"That woman has the fashion sensibility of Marion P. Krier." ~Ryan Johnson, circa 1993
I distinctly remember some vocabulary words I learned in the 8th grade: debonair, chic, suave, dashing. Clearly high fashion was the common theme in that unit. Ironically, though I learned these words in a classroom, school was the last place I'd ever see these words become personified.
Teachers have notoriously bad style. School is, it seems to me, the birthplace of stirrup pants, 24-eyelet boots with spaghetti shoelaces, turtle necks with crocheted vests, over-sized sweatshirts to cover overgrown buttocks but cinched above the hips by a large belt to create the illusion of a waistline, heelless huarache sandals, and most importantly, the holiday sweater.
Now I said "birthplace" before, but that's probably wrong. The above items were probably not birthed in schools, but are more likely vestiges of mainstream fashions that were adopted by teachers way after their initial decline in popularity.
Let me give you an example. My high school German teacher (Beth's German teacher also, though we weren't in the same class), embodied the German word "altmodisch" (look it up). On a good day, her outfit consisted of coffee-brown polyester pants, a pumpkin-orange cotton-blend long sleeved turtleneck shirt, a shapeless brown and orange afghan-woven vest, toffee colored orthopedic shoes, and a single, lifeless, gray and brown braid that trailed flaccidly down her back to the top of the polyester pants. Wait, don't let me forget to mention 7" diameter armpit sweat stains that remained there in spite of the coldest of weather conditions and thermostat settings.
Now, I could go on with stories about badly dressed teachers for days and days. I'll save that for another time. I'd just like to pose this question to our dear readers (and by "readers" I mean Beth :) ) before I try to tackle it myself. Why is it that the teacher profession seems to be a veritable hotbed for the shabby, the moth-eaten, the tacky, the unbecoming, and the unstylish alike?
Are we teachers really that poor? That out of touch? That much in need of comfort? Or do we just not care? And finally, if this is the case, is someone going to tell me when my clothing is so out of style, it's actually disrupting the learning process? Or will I live in ignorance, only to discover years after my retirement (no, I wont make it in this business that long), that one of my former students has dedicated a blog entry to my poor fashion? I don't believe I'll ever know.
Wednesday, March 28, 2007
Sunday, March 04, 2007
The Arboretum
As a child growing up in a college town the University of Illinois campus was my playground. The crisscrossed sidewalks on the quad were a perfect layout bike races, the parking garage of Krannert was our personal skateboard park not to mention its multi leveled rooftops were exceptional for epic (multiple night) games of capture the flag, we’d have art time on the chalkboards of vacant classrooms, and play tag in unlocked apartment buildings. Out of the thousands of play areas we discovered over the years the Arboretum Woods were my favorite. These woods are a natural haven within the bustling university. The woods are located on the south end of Lincoln Ave. in Urbana, tucked between the Japan House and the flower gardens.
My friend Katie was the one who first showed me the Arboretum. One muggy summer afternoon she led me there on her yellow three speed Schwinn bicycle. Running through the trails we found a small clearing of trees and claimed it ours. We quickly got to work making the area into a suitable fort. We arranged logs into chairs, brought in blankets and tied them between trees to create walls, made a fire pit and one night we waited ‘til dusk and carried a mattress four blocks to our new hangout. It was in these woods where some of my fondest memories of my childhood were created.
Oftentimes the games we would play in the Arboretum were elaborate contests that we fashioned with our own intellect and usually had no fewer than 30 rules. Hiding behind brush and scaring hikers was a favorite pastime. Points were distributed by a variety of factors. Scaring a man gave you the highest amount of points, followed by women and then children. The time of day mattered, a night scare being more valuable than a day scare. You also were awarded by the degree of shock you sent your victim into. Profanities were worth significant points, followed by shrills, yelps, jumps, and finally flinches. Our victims were never angry after we scared them. Could you imagine a grown man getting mad at two preteen girls for jumping out of a bush and saying “Boo!”? Neither could we.
My game of choice was the fire lighting contest. We would divide ourselves into two teams. Usually a team had two members, but at the peak of the fort's reign we had teams of four. An egg timer was set for ten minutes and each team was given one Strike Anywhere Match. At this point members scrambled to collect a variety of grass, twigs and branches. With one match you really only had one shot to get your kindling right. There was a set rule that you were allowed to use one sock to aide in the process. Needless to say by the end of the summer none of my socks had their twin and I had to wear flip-flops everywhere. After you got your fire going the goal was to see who could have the tallest, widest, and hottest fire in the ten minute time limit. Fires were judged and scores were kept in a running tally.
As we grew older the visits to the woods became less and less frequent as sports and school dominated our lives. Years later my father showed me an article from the News Gazette about the woods. University officials had discovered what appeared to be a shantytown within the woods boundaries. Homeless people were suspected of inhabiting the forest. It had mentioned of the presence a fire pit, random furniture, and an old mattress was found. A thinning of the timber was ordered so that the heart of the thick could be viewed from its perimeter. Now we will never really know if the items unearthed at The Arboretum were ours from years before, or if they belonged to the supposed new inhabitants of the area, but I like to think that perhaps a new generation of kids stumbled upon the same playground as we and created a entirely new set of games to play among the foliage.
My friend Katie was the one who first showed me the Arboretum. One muggy summer afternoon she led me there on her yellow three speed Schwinn bicycle. Running through the trails we found a small clearing of trees and claimed it ours. We quickly got to work making the area into a suitable fort. We arranged logs into chairs, brought in blankets and tied them between trees to create walls, made a fire pit and one night we waited ‘til dusk and carried a mattress four blocks to our new hangout. It was in these woods where some of my fondest memories of my childhood were created.
Oftentimes the games we would play in the Arboretum were elaborate contests that we fashioned with our own intellect and usually had no fewer than 30 rules. Hiding behind brush and scaring hikers was a favorite pastime. Points were distributed by a variety of factors. Scaring a man gave you the highest amount of points, followed by women and then children. The time of day mattered, a night scare being more valuable than a day scare. You also were awarded by the degree of shock you sent your victim into. Profanities were worth significant points, followed by shrills, yelps, jumps, and finally flinches. Our victims were never angry after we scared them. Could you imagine a grown man getting mad at two preteen girls for jumping out of a bush and saying “Boo!”? Neither could we.
My game of choice was the fire lighting contest. We would divide ourselves into two teams. Usually a team had two members, but at the peak of the fort's reign we had teams of four. An egg timer was set for ten minutes and each team was given one Strike Anywhere Match. At this point members scrambled to collect a variety of grass, twigs and branches. With one match you really only had one shot to get your kindling right. There was a set rule that you were allowed to use one sock to aide in the process. Needless to say by the end of the summer none of my socks had their twin and I had to wear flip-flops everywhere. After you got your fire going the goal was to see who could have the tallest, widest, and hottest fire in the ten minute time limit. Fires were judged and scores were kept in a running tally.
As we grew older the visits to the woods became less and less frequent as sports and school dominated our lives. Years later my father showed me an article from the News Gazette about the woods. University officials had discovered what appeared to be a shantytown within the woods boundaries. Homeless people were suspected of inhabiting the forest. It had mentioned of the presence a fire pit, random furniture, and an old mattress was found. A thinning of the timber was ordered so that the heart of the thick could be viewed from its perimeter. Now we will never really know if the items unearthed at The Arboretum were ours from years before, or if they belonged to the supposed new inhabitants of the area, but I like to think that perhaps a new generation of kids stumbled upon the same playground as we and created a entirely new set of games to play among the foliage.
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