The Chance To Choose

The issue of School Choice is back in the news. Last year, the Supreme Court ruled against diversity plans in two cities in two different states because of racially based guidelines. The Court ruled those guidelines to be unconstitutional.

As the kids used to say, well, Duh. I’ve had a problem with School Choice for years, because it isn’t. It isn’t a choice for everyone.

In the case in Louisville, Kentucky, a little boy wanted to go to the school near his home. He wasn’t allowed to. By law, he had to attend another school that was farther from his home.

Why did the law make him attend the other school? Because he was white. Think about that for a minute. I’m not trying to be inflammatory. But flip this around and think about what would happen if that boy had not been white. If he had not been allowed to attend a school, and the reason given was because he was black.

It would have been screamed from every news agency in the country. People would have been outraged, including me. And so they should have been. You should not be denied access to a school based on your skin color, regardless of what that skin color is, black or white.

This is what the boy’s mother, Crystal Meredith, had to say.
"We are not here because we didn’t get our first choice, but because we got no choice. I was told by the school board that my son’s education was not as important as their plan. I was told I should sacrifice his learning in order to maintain the status quo."

Meredith’s son now must ride the bus for three hours a day to get to the school not that his parent who knows him best chose, but that was chosen for him by a system based on skin color.
Discrimination is discrimination. If it is wrong not to allow a black child to attend school because simply they are black, it is wrong not to allow a white child to attend school simply because they are white.

But that is exactly what School(not)Choice does. Black children in that live in Blytheville can attend Blytheville, Gosnell or Armorel, as long as that district has room for the additional students. White children that live in Blytheville can not.

The reasoning behind the law is to avoid segregating the schools. But we are segregated already. By choice, by circumstance, by reality. We segregate ourselves anyway. We choose what neighborhood we are going to live in. We choose what church we are going to attend. We choose what job we are going to work at. We choose what sport we are going to participate in. We choose what friends we are going to associate with.

We don’t necessarily base those choices on skin color, but with each choice, we put ourselves into a certain group of people. We choose to be in this group, and therefore choose not to join in with that group over there.

Attempting to desegregate schools has proven to be a failure, time and time again.
Growing up, my sister and I attended the monstrosity known as the Pulaski County Special School District. It was named that because it included parts of Little Rock, North Little Rock, Sherwood, Sylvan Hills, and Jacksonville.

It was the largest school district in the state, and its goal was desegregation. It tried for close to fifty years, and it failed. I lived near schools that were just minutes away, but was bussed across town. My sister was bussed miles away on the interstate to another city, all in the name of trying to mix us all up into some perfectly balanced formula.

It didn’t work. People moved away in order to let their children attend the school the parents chose, as opposed to letting their children be a pawn in some mathematical form of political correctness.

I’m not against our local schools. I am an outspoken supporter of them. I have friends I treasure that started out as simply my son’s teacher. Our local schools have nothing to do with the School Choice laws. They didn’t make the laws, they just bear the burden of enforcing them.

This is a flawed law. Discrimination is always wrong, no matter who it is directed against. The School Choice law doesn’t give everyone a choice. It needs to be re-written, so that School Choice is truly a choice for every parent and every student, regardless of their skin color.

Teachers, Preachers and Faith Keepers

We survived the first week of school. I was sort of hoping we would. In this case, it’s not just my son, but the collective we that makes up my entire family. There’s a lot of us, and a lot of us are intimately involved with education in all of its forms.

My niece Jennifer has a significant other. He survived his first days on a new college campus. My nephew Drew survived the first week of tenth grade in Little Rock at his charter school, as did his teachers. Jen’s law school is still standing.

My Dad got his official school identification badge. Once again this year, he and other ministers in this area will participate in the Pastors on the Premises program. They will be in participating schools giving support to both teachers and students.

My sister survived her first week as a principal. Prayers were bombarding heaven on her, and her students, behalf. I’ve never had so much sympathy for what school administrators deal with.
As a parent, my focus has always been on my one student. I’ve never thought all that much on what one student multiplied by hundreds might mean. Watching my sister deal with the details of those hundreds has given me a new appreciation for that position.

My sister was just graduating from college as I was starting college. I was majoring in journalism but minoring in education at the time. I thought I might want to switch, and major in education like my sister.

Her first year as a teacher was enough to convince me otherwise. I don’t have what it takes. I don’t have the patience, I don’t have the ability to communicate, and I don’t have the organizational skills. I could deal with the kids. I could deal with the parents. I could deal with all the paperwork. I could deal with the rules handed down by the administration and the state. I could deal with any one of those things. But I absolutely could not deal with all of those things, all day long and into the evening, all at the same time.

The further along Teresa went in her career, the more I was convinced I did the right thing by sticking with my original major. I didn’t have what it took back then. I certainly don’t now. I don’t know how educators do it. I’m glad they do; I just don’t know how they do.

Logan survived his first week too, and we all survived right along with him. Changing classes, getting to the locker and then getting to the next class on time, figuring out where things are in a new school...it’s a scene that repeats itself every year for millions of kids, but this time it was my kid.

The first day, my mom was calling for hourly updates. Right before she went to bed, she needed to know if we were ready for tomorrow. Had I signed everything? Had I made sure his clothes were ready? The alarm clock set? Sigh. I guess no matter how old your own child gets, you still need to make sure they are capable of taking care of your grandchild.

The Jonesboro side also called. Each and every one of them. They too needed a play by play of his day. The benefit, or not, of being the only child on that side of the family. The rest of the world may think Logan started to school Monday. We know the truth. We know the entire Furnish/Decanter clan started school Monday.

And so another school year begins for my family. Some of us are actively involved and some us are just supporters, like me. Some of us do what we do best, like my mom. Her role can’t be underestimated. She prays. If Nana is praying, everything is going to work out all right.

This school year, those prayers are going to be focused on the UCA campus in Conway, where Jen’s boyfriend is. In Little Rock, they will be focused on the UALR law school campus, where Jen is; the LISA Academy, where Drew is; and McDermott Elementary, where Teresa is. Here they will be focused on practically every school, but Logan’s school may get a bit of priority.

If someone you love is attending any of those places, this just might be the best school year they have ever had. Mom’s prayers are powerful things.

A Driving Desire

The earth didn’t tremble and quake. Angels didn’t split the heavens to trumpet the glory. Even without signs and wonders, Logan still managed to turn 13 on the 13th.

It was an event he has been looking forward to with glee. Being a teenager represents a magical time of freedom. He is no longer just a kid. He is one step closer to being independent, and that most glorious goal, being able to drive.

Talk about the earth quaking. Just the thought of him being in control of a vehicle is enough to make me tremble and shake. My fearless son; the one that has never seen anything that is too high, too fast, or too scary wants us to start teaching him how to drive.

If we start now, he will be ready when he is 14 and can get a learner’s permit. Yeah, good try son. And my response to his seemingly logical request? No absolute way.

Was it really that long ago when my dad was teaching my sister and me to drive? It really was. My dad is convinced the reason he got gray hair in his thirties is because he was teaching two teenage girls how to drive.

That’s not entirely accurate. I was a breeze to teach. My sister, on the other hand, was a little more trouble. Dad started her out on a stick shift. That wasn’t a good idea. There’s just too many things to keep up with when one hand has to steer, one hand has to shift, one foot has to do the clutch, and one foot has to do...whatever. Either the gas or the brake, depending on the situation. It’s confusing.

If Dad raised his voice so they wouldn’t get killed from the oncoming traffic, Teresa cried. It didn’t keep the traffic from getting any closer. Dad’s lucky gray hair is all he got out of the experience.

By the time he got around to me, he didn’t even consider putting me in a stick shift. Been there, done that, don’t want to risk getting killed a second time.

I was somewhat easier to teach because I don’t cry as quickly as Teresa does. I don’t get quite as shook up quite as fast. I had the benefit of watching her experiences, so I knew what to do and what not to do.

One of the most important things I learned was that Mom would be banned from my driving lessons. I was 12 years old when my sister was learning to drive. She and Dad were in the front seat. Mom and I were in the back seat.

Mom was praying. Out loud. "Help her, Jesus. Bless her, Jesus. Protect us, Jesus" We needed the prayers, no doubt. But what was going on in the back seat didn’t inspire a lot of confidence in the what was going on in the front seat.

I told Dad that Mom would not be in the car when I started driving. She would make me batty doing that. She could pray, but she had to do it at home. It was just me and Dad, and a few more gray hairs, when I was learning to drive.

The day I turned 16, I was waiting to take my driver’s license test when they opened at 8 a.m. I remember the joy and excitement of that day; the exhilaration of being able to go where I wanted, of not being driven around like a baby anymore.

I understand Logan’s desire. He is growing up, and has the same desire I did to be more independent. Understanding doesn’t make me more comfortable though. I guess every parent struggles with this, but it seems like I was so much older at 13 than he is. He is just a kid. I distinctly remember being practically an adult.

He probably will be a fine driver. He has been practicing for years in go-carts, golf carts, and other assorted things. In the deer woods, both his Dad and my Dad have occasionally let him drive down those dirt roads.

There are 361 days until Logan turns 14. Just in case you need to know, so you can prepare yourself and be on alert. On the 365th day, an extremely happy 14-year old will be on the street, happily practicing for his driver’s license. I will be at home. Praying.

New Adventures

School starts soon. In my family, this year, that means a lot of changes. My sister, an educator in Little Rock, will start this new school year off as a principal.

It’s a first for her, and fulfills a dream she has had for a while now. She will make an excellent one, but there has been a quite a few new and different things to learn this summer. Students think they have it hard going back to school. They should see what the administrators have to learn.

There are a lot of rules, regulations, requirements and restrictions that go into the daily business of educating our children. It isn’t as simple as just walking into the school building and saying "Ok, let’s teach them something today." The paperwork and documentation that goes into teaching them something today is enormous.

This job is a ministry to her, and she will do well. She may occasionally be buried in red tape, but she will be awesome even buried.

My niece Jennifer is in her second year of law school, which means we all are breathing a little easier. We survived Jen’s first year. There were times we weren’t so sure we would make it. We love Jen. But when Jen is unhappy, everyone is unhappy. Jen was unhappy a lot during her first year of law school. The tempest has calmed, therefore the tranquility of our entire family has calmed.

My niece-in-law Tiffany graduated from college in May. Tiffany and my nephew, Michael, are preparing for their first mission trip; which they will take later on this year. We had a hard time having them in Texas. Although we know why they feel the call to go, none of us are going to love the fact that they are in Africa. I’m pretty sure the "no roaming charges" on our cell phones don’t include Tanzania.

Logan will start seventh grade. When I was in school, seventh grade was the beginning of what we called junior high school. Here, seventh and eighth grade is middle school in some areas, and ninth grade starts high school. In Little Rock where I went to school, ninth grade was still junior high, and high school was tenth, eleventh and twelfth.

Junior high school, those grades, that age; was beyond a doubt some of the worst years of my life. I did not make a good young teenager, from 13 to 15 or so. I don’t know what it was. I’ve heard all kids that age sort of go crazy for a while.

Maybe they put the kids that age together in school to contain the craziness to one campus. Knowing how weird my feelings were, how crazy some of my thoughts and actions and ideas were isn’t doing anything to make me look forward to the next few years. Teachers and others that choose to work with this particular age group probably deserve some sort of combat pay.

I’m pretty sure I’m not going to get to hold Logan’s hand and reassure him on the first day of school like I have done in previous years. It would look pretty funny with me looking up - way up - to encourage him. He is inches and inches taller than me now. And it would humiliate him to no end. My little boy will be a teenager, walking through the doors where other teenagers are to embark on another year.

In another place, other members of my family will be taking their next steps. Tiffany and Michael continue to save money, and continue to learn a new language. Jen will walk through the doors of the law school to start another year of preparing for her future.

Teresa, Mrs. Richardson, that is, will be standing inside the doors of her school, where other parents with young sons and daughters will be. As she embarks on her own new adventure, she will welcome those little ones to their new school year, as they begin a new adventure themselves.

Equal Time

It was quiet around my house last week. Part of it was because my body has decided once again to do what my family refers to as it’s "Tena Thing" and flip out for no good reason.

Every so often, just to keep life interesting, my body decides to do something unusual and unexpected. The result leads to me being uncomfortable, my doctor being confused, and all of us knowing that here we go again.

I’ve spent the last few weeks sharing quality time with my bed and my couch, moving as little as possible and sleeping as much as possible, which is about the only state I’m comfortable in.
My local doctor refers to me as "special," which is most likely code for what he won’t say: weird. It’s okay. I knew that already.

Logan’s grandpa rescued him by taking him to Jonesboro for the week. I definitely wasn’t any fun, and Grandpa occasionally feels the need to undo the Decanter side of whatever damage is being done to the grandson. After all, Logan is exposed to that side constantly. They live here.

There has been an ongoing, albeit good-natured, war on since Logan learned to talk. Actually, since Logan learned to repeat whatever the Papa would say, and then go tell Grandpa. Papa drives a big Dodge truck. Grandpa drives a big Ford F-350 dually truck. That’s enough ammunition right there.

Papa tells jokes. Grandpa tells funnier ones. Or, at least they are funny when the granddads tell them. Filtered through Logan, they loose something. He hasn’t quite developed perfect timing and total recall yet.

In our extended family, "You be sure to tell your Grandpa," or "You tell your Papa," is a common phrase that brings groans from everybody. Logan loves it, so it keeps going.

We were a little worried about Grandpa. He isn’t as young as he was when he had his own 12 year old to chase around, and he hadn’t had two knee replacement surgeries. He asked for Logan, though, so he got him.

They had all kinds of adventures. Logan’s birthday is coming up, so Grandpa took Logan shopping. My child isn’t any more normal than I am. So while most kids would go to the mall, my kid went to his favorite places....the pawn shops and military surplus stores in Jonesboro. Yeah, they bought stuff. Used stuff. Stuff nobody else wants, but stuff that is a treasure to my son.

They toured the fire station, something Logan loves to do and asks to do routinely. We’ve done it here so often that the firefighter’s know him by name. They just about know him by name in Jonesboro, too. He knows every make and model of every truck, and wants to go every time a new piece of equipment comes in. He knows more about the equipment than the average adult citizen, and probably the average city council member does of either town. It is one of his passions.

They went fishing late one afternoon and evening and caught a whole lot of heat and a whole mess of mosquitoes. They did not catch any fish. They spent the next day vacuuming the truck, trying to get out what Logan said was "four quadrillion" bugs.

After Gary got off work Thursday, he rescued his dad by going to Jonesboro. The three of them went up to Bull Shoals on the White River. The plan was to spend a few days doing some Father-Son-Grandson bonding while fishing for those world famous trout.

They had better luck up there. They caught less mosquitoes.