Over the summer I built a practice space in my basement, and for decoration I brought down a refurbished lava lamp that was gathering dust in the boys’ bedroom. As part of this process I spent some time exploring the lava lamp side of the internet, and what a sub-culture that is, teeming with interior design aesthetes, chemical nerds (obsessed with proper liquid mixes and wax combos to produce the most pleasing “flow”), and the expected burned-out hippies. I was surprised to find that the Brits are way more into these things than we are, with lots of luxed out brands like Mathmos that have wild retro designs. Over here, we’re stuck with two brands that produce the standard lamps that make up the bulk of what you see at Spencers and Target. Continue reading Six (or seven) things that have been on my mind
Close your eyes
For no discernible reason, I started to think about my eighth grade English teacher, Nancy Zappulla. This started on Thursday morning. We can usually trace back these things: an old Ford Ranger leads me to a friend I knew in college; the sound of a whippoorwill leads me to summer mornings helping my mom water the flowers around the house.
I would like to emphasize that Nancy Zappulla appeared without any antecedent that I can recall.
As I continued my way through a very normal and pleasant day — mowing the lawn, practicing banjo, going to Home Depot to buy some accessories for my lava lamps, taking my sons to the community pool — I continued to think about Ms. Zappulla, who, as I said, was my English teacher in my eighth-grade 2001/2002 school year.
It was strange to be thinking of her — spontaneously thinking of her. We had not stayed in touch. Not that I have done a good job of staying in touch with anyone from my grammar school days, but with her there was nothing, no social media, shared friends, nothing. My last memory of seeing her in person was at a coffee shop in Appomattox where I was playing guitar as a senior in high school. An older lady with a self-knowing eccentricity about her, she wandered in with a friend, watched me play for a few minutes, nodded in acknowledgement, and wandered out without speaking to me. Now that I have logged fifteen years as an English teacher, I can certainly appreciate the scenario of seeing a student you taught, tolerated for a year, and don’t have much interest in interacting with ever again.
I wondered what had happened to Ms. Zappulla. Was she still alive? Had she moved from Appomattox? I had a phone in my pocket and she had a surname that made her easily searchable. But I kept finding reasons not to check, and I went about my day without searching.
Finally, in the evening after my boys had gone to bed, I Googled “Zappulla Appomattox.” There I found out via a publicly viewable Facebook post that she had indeed passed away.
She had passed away that day.
I read the FB post, did some more reflecting — all the while being duly freaked out. I shared this story with my wife, who was perhaps even more freaked out.
And now, in an effort to honor this visitation, I have shared this story with you.
Here is my valediction for Nancy Zappulla: she was a lifelong educator, an ordained minister. In the classroom, she was very open with us about her life, in the way that older teachers lose their filter and their hangups and will just share as it becomes relevant. She told us about the time she had a rare ocular disease that caused her to go temporarily blind, a state in which she lived for several months before recovering her vision (with some assistance — she was always wearing these extremely thick glasses). To that end, she always emphasized the blessings of sight, but sometimes encouraged us to utilize the limitations of its loss. Just close your eyes and write, I remember she once told us as a warm-up. In the fall she asked us to read The Yearling, and I didn’t read it as closely as I should have. Another memory: my friend Max was going through a lot of angst and life frustrations, wearing lots of Eminem attire — this was the absolute peak of Eminem. Ms. Zappulla gave Max a CD of Christian rap, which he politely accepted and ignored. Taking these big swings and misses like this is another connection I can make with her, twenty-plus years later.
I wonder if she will continue visiting me throughout the school year, or if this meager blog post is enough to satisfy her unfinished business with me. I’ll keep you updated. Until then, please read the obituary, and consider making a donation to the Alzheimer’s Association.
Four Generations of Teaching at Woodgrove
During the course of a typical school day, your hardworking English teacher sometimes needs to amuse his students with a delightful fun fact.
“Did you know,” I tell the class, “that there are four generations of teachers at Woodgrove?”
They stare back at me with a mixture of confusion and concern at my enthusiasm.
I elaborate:
“Did you know that science teacher Ms. Bartling was taught history at Woodgrove by Mr. Skinner, who was taught history at Park View by Dr. Shipp, who was taught chemistry at Valley by Mr. Spicer?”
Oh, how nice, they observe. Very good. What exactly does this have to do with English class, Mr. Scott?
It’s Beginning to Look A Lot Like Brainrot
I asked my students three things in a recent anonymous survey. First, describe brainrot in their own words. Next, describe an instance of brainrot observed in their own life, and finally describe an instance of brainrot they observed happen to someone else.
Zen Moments, Spring 2024
The most important thing I’ve ever been taught
Last year I wrote about the most influential teacher in my life and how it was a pretty dysfunctional experience and the closest I’ve ever come to spending time in a cult.
This year for Teacher Appreciation Week, I’d like to offer a slightly more positive reflection on someone even more influential on who I am today: my mom.
Continue reading The most important thing I’ve ever been taught
Yap yap yap
The word “yap” is all the rage with the youth at the moment. Yap yap yap. My mom was yapping at me. You wouldn’t stop yapping about that during lunch. Yap yap yap.
I will now yap about stuff I’ve had on my mind.
Forensics Journal: Part II
Thursday, January 18 – Only day of school this week. Most of the morning spent rescheduling the event tomorrow in light of the forecast. Emailing students and judges and making sure everyone is aware. Trying to determine how many students we will lose to scheduling conflicts next week.
Monday, January 22 – Arrive at school early, refreshed and ready to start the week. Only at 9:00 do I start to realize that I’m the only soul in the English hallway. Where the hell is everyone? I check the schedule. End-of-the-quarter planning day. How do you like that?
Zen moments: Fall, 2023
Prior installments:
Met a student with a cool alliterative name.
Student: “Yeah. All my siblings have these initials.”
Me: “So your parents are…?”
Student: “Weird? Yes. And divorced.”
Forensics Journal: Part I
Tuesday, January 2 – First day back. Original oratory student stops by in the morning to discuss changes to her piece. She is excited and ready to start memorizing.
A positive start to what is otherwise a dark day on the forensics front. Black Tuesday – numerous students withdrawing from their forensics commitments: