• He Never Said Goodbye

    or

    Gone in the Night

    or

    To M: I hope I hear from you again before one of us dies.

    My last living sibling (whom I will call M) moved out of state without saying goodbye, without leaving a phone number or a new address.

    Stunning. Grievous. I am writing this with all my willpower going to not breaking down.

    I should not have been stunned, since I had been sensing conflict and instability in his relationship with his partner, whom I will call J. 

    J and M had been together for nearly thirty years but were not married.  In our state, there is no common law marriage recognized and without a will or legal agreement, they are legally strangers for each other’s assets.

    This part may be important for my brother financially supported for these years by his partner.  They lived together, helped each other out emotionally, socially, physically, and when he had money, financially. 

    However J had the pensions and home and assets.  M had a few hundred a month I think.I am not sure. We had not lived together, my brother and I, for nearly 60 years.

    That’s right.  This was a late life breakup, with J being close to 90 and M being close to 80 years old. 

    At this point in life, an age difference can make a longevity difference, and as my husband put it, perhaps M was planning his next move, the next woman to support him, for a number of years already.  Perhaps knowing  J’s assets were given in her will to her adult children spurred him on, for right or wrong, one doesn’t become financially independent near 80 years old. Injuries and illnesses found both of them, but M did live with a number of women, one at a time, long term, where they mainly supported him, while M worked on inventions, playing music, and watching the stars.

    Had she, J, been the one supported financially, I wonder how I would have felt.  But knowing that my own brother didn’t support his one child, did not pay his student loans, and so lived life furtively, is an added sadness and loss.  The thought of a fully functioning sibling, my last remaining one, is a dream that won’t come true unless he somehow avoids legal problems while making a lot of money selling his patents.  M lived his life in shadows at times, using pseudonyms since universities and courts might have been looking for him. He claimed he reconnected with his adult son who turned out to be too needy; again, this is something I do not believe, for I learned that my family members often lied. I thought everyone grew up not knowing what was the truth, but that is not the case it seems. 

    For example, M told his last partner our father moved out for ten years and lived with his (possibly) male lover.  This is not true. I was alive then, as were my uncles.  Often during nearly a decade my father had terrible medical issues including paralysis and blindness (which somehow were cured), and was in a medical hospital.  But he was not living with his (possibly) male lover. 

    Why would M say such a thing?  To engender pity, perhaps, and have a loving nurturing woman want to take care of him?  To “explain” the large differences in age between 3 of us sibling and M?  I would think being so injured and medically fragile for nearly a decade would be reason enough.

    The truth is bad enough, that our father was a mentally ill raging violent alcoholic who mentally and physically abused his family members and stopped working in his early 40s, plunging us into deep poverty along with deep violence and terror.  Isn’t that bad enough? Why hint our father was gay?  Was that just to add to the story?  I am not sure.

    So M is gone.  Just gone.  I don’t really know if he left in the night, but that sounded like a better storyline. See?  We all learned to be dramatic, all of us.

    What is true is that M left without saying good bye, without telling me, his last sibling, that he was leaving.  I am not sure where he is living now, but have heard from J that he might be living with an old partner far across country.

    What I do not know is true is how M’s marriage or any of his relationships really ended. I’ve heard dramatic stories putting blame on his partners. 

    What I do not know is if my sister was abused by M as she claimed happened all the time.  On her deathbed, she would not tell the truth about this, and this has clouded my emotions and reactions to my last sibling.  Why would she lie?  Why did any of them lie?

    I guess there was not ever enough therapy to go around for my family, and it seems I got it all!  I have discussed these matters with my therapists over many years, and we do not know the truth.

    I did see physical and a lot of emotional abuse by our father towards my sister and brothers.  That abuse I witnessed.

    To M: I hope I hear from you again.  We are both older. We have both suffered from being raised with poverty, fear, violence, terror, alcoholism, and abuse.  We have lost two siblings too young, and it is just us.  (I blame trauma for my younger brother’s and only sister’s early deaths. But that is another story too painful to write just now.)

    To M: I hope I hear from you again, brother.  I don’t expect I will ever know the truth, but I know we are nearly out of time.

    ################

    PS It appears I have two blogs with similar names and “similar” but not the same URL’s:

    I must determine which one has my archives, was paid for, etc.

    Must choose or merge from:

    https://lauraleewriterpoeteducator.com

    OR 

  • When August

    (Prose poem–maybe a Haibun?)

    PS It appears I have two blogs with similar names and “similar” but not the same URL’s:

    I must determine which one has my archives, was paid for, etc.

    Must choose or merge from:

    https://lauraleewriterpoeteducator.com

    OR 

  • Between Sunlight and Skipping-short fiction

    Hello, all! I found it~one of my blog sites. I don’t know how to access them often since I thought I was being clever having several with similar names using similar sounding email addresses. But here goes!

    This short story was first published online in Greece. The rights have reverted to me. I am posting the story pages as images. I will be working it over, editing and revising, and hopefully changing it enough to have it published somewhere still in existence.

    Hope you enjoy it! Please let me know what you think. I know there is really no plot–it’s a slice of life. But that’s me–a poet at heart with all kinds of slices of life.

    Thanks for reading.

    Laura Lee

    PS It appears I have two blogs with similar names and “similar” but not the same URL’s:

    I must determine which one has my archives, was paid for, etc.

    Must choose or merge from:

    https://lauraleewriterpoeteducator.com

    OR 

  • Spring Sunrise Rush Hour (from Sickbed) new Poem

    Again, I THINK I’ve found my “real” blog, but I am not sure. I thought I was so clever having so many gmails that are similar and blogs that sound so much the same. I somehow got into this blog, and wanted to post a little poem I’ve been thinking about. About the passage of time. About how we don’t notice all the beauties and sounds around us as we rush through our days.

    And then… slowing down due to age, being sick…and I wonder. Has the sunrise always been a mix of beauty and chaos?

    I will post now, before I get booted out.

    Thanks for reading.

    Laura

    PS It appears I have two blogs with similar names and “similar” but not the same URL’s:

    I must determine which one has my archives, was paid for, etc.

    Must choose or merge from:

    https://lauraleewriterpoeteducator.com

    OR 

  • Published story–and I think I found my “real”blog.

    Well, it’s been a while. Since my sister and brother passed and the pandemic, I fear I had the creativity slammed out of me. Grief and anxiety can do that. Also, one social media forum starting with “tw” really blew me away with its vicious unkindness and judgments. I expected more from poets, writers, and teachers–but people are people and I should have known better.

    As an act of protest and trying to keep alive inside, I have been submitting madly recently. 

    The rejections are coming in, and once acceptance of a short piece of humor/ horror fiction. I know, strange combination! But it was fun to write, and I wrote it last summer while taking a writing workshop at our great community college.

    Pleased to say that “In the Walls,” with gratitude to Edgar Allan Poe, will be published soon here:

    Flash Fiction|Short-short Story||Laura Lee Koenig|”In the Walls”

    And… I cannot really find my REAL blog here on WordPress. I see to have had two with the same name? I do know that during the pandemic I neglected both and stopped paying for either. So… need to confirm this is the REAL one to stop the ads. 

    Thanks for reading!

    Laura https://ojalart.com/

    PS It appears I have two blogs with similar names and “similar” but not the same URL’s:

    I must determine which one has my archives, was paid for, etc.

    Must choose or merge from:

    https://lauraleewriterpoeteducator.com

    OR 

  • What Restores

    (From 2010)

    What restores faith/ hope in humankind

    A BIG test day, stressful for all–students, teachers, administrators. A bad speaker filling the time before kids could leave.

    Hundreds of edgy kids, antsy to get out on this beautiful spring day. They behaved so well considering all–the speaker didn’t relate well to kids, didn’t know his material, and was boring.

    Two boys hung back, nodding off, and I thought..that’s the mature thing to do. Don’t get in trouble, just chill out for a while.

    I watched them. They nodded to each other in some type of secret language only they knew.

    One asked for a pass. It was strictly forbidden, not on a test date–to have kids in the hall. How embarrassing for a young person to ask an unknown female teacher to ALLOW him to use the restroom, but I also knew we wanted to keep the school quiet for the juniors taking the PSAE.

    I would be his human hall pass. We got to talking in the hall, and he told me just a year ago, he would have been getting into trouble on a day like this, boring days.

    I understood, asked about the looks between the two boys, and he explained it was his half-brother, and it was their code to help each other stay out of trouble. Just to let each other know how silly it all was, but also–to help each other stay out of trouble.

    That’s very wise, I told him. I worry about my freshmen.

    Oh, no, last year I couldn’t do this, he said. He was now on the track team and football team, not really good at either one, but trying his best. He said he was beginning to appreciate the opportunities he had here in the suburbs.

    Click.

    Here in the suburbs.

    He used to hang out with older boys in the city, he said, but that just led to trouble.

    Your teammates, like friends now, I asked.

    Yes, he said. Not really friends, but at least friendly.

    His brother came out and we talked. The younger one was not quite as sharp, could use an older brother’s guidance I could tell, and he kept looking to his brother for answers.

    So and so teacher was bothering him and he wasn’t doing anything wrong, the younger brother complained.

    Not worth getting in trouble, other brother said. Just say yes, excuse me, and think about after school, about track. Think about other things.

    Big smiles.

    A coach went by and said, they are good boys. Good kids. I can tell, I told him. They aren’t giving you any trouble, he asked. Oh, no, I said. They are helping me.

    I wish you would talk to my freshmen, I said, I worry about them.

    Now we were strangers just minutes before, but a connection had been made. They knew it was silly to be watching this presentation from a poor speaker but that there are rules to follow and just to get through the day and get to the opportunities.

    The older brother told me he started out with a rough life, from deep down south, and he knew how good we had it here in school. He said his mother wanted much for him. I could hear a bit of southern drawl to his speech now that he mentioned the deep south.

    I thanked his mother silently, for she had taught him valuable lessons: respect, kindness, looking out for his younger brother who just wasn’t as sharp somehow.

    Later, during another speech, the younger brother fell asleep. He was not alone–it was warm, the speaker wasn’t very good, and many kids fell asleep.

    But for some reason, it bothered a teacher that the younger boy fell asleep. His head ended up on his older brother’s shoulder.

    I don’t know about you, but two big boys who can help each other stay good and feel secure enough to not push his brother away?

    To me, that says mentor, supportive, and more.

    Big brother turned around, looked at me and I was so hoping he would simply take his own advice.

    I’ll wake up my brother, he said softly. Sorry, Miss. He is just tired.

    Brother. Yes, brother. The other teacher visibly relaxed. How was she to know they were brothers. She wouldn’t know.

    In the hall later, older brother said he nearly snapped since they weren’t doing anything wrong. They were not. Younger brother fell asleep for a moment and rested his head. it wasn’t in class. They were quiet. Others were sleeping.

    But he’d just given me advice for the freshmen and didn’t want to disappoint me, a total stranger.

    *******************

    Somehow, this encounter with two boys I’d never even seen before gives me hope. Freshmen do grow up. Brothers can help brothers.

    To be honest, I don’t know if they are blood brothers or good friends, but it doesn’t matter to me.

    If we all had such a brother, one who could say–hey, it’s tough at times, but think about your future–take the opportunities we have, use them, create a life for yourself–I think our world would be a better place.

    **********************

    Later in the day, I saw the same coach and asked him about the brothers. He wasn’t sure they were brothers–maybe, maybe not. But they were good boys. Yes, I could tell, I told him. You sure they weren’t bothering you, he asked, and I knew–these might have been boys who had been in trouble in the past.

    Oh, no trouble at all, I told the coach, in fact, they were helping me.


    *******************

    And this is why I think it is a blessing to be a teacher. To witness this fragile resilience in some kids, this kindness and strength coming out of struggle. I would even call it nobility–yes, noble behavior from teenagers.

    But it is fragile. Fragile, needs our help to keep going. I never know if I am doing the right thing–I try, I keep asking for help, I hope, oh I hope I am doing the right things.

    And counting my blessings.

    (Image from the Creative Commons)

    PS It appears I have two blogs with similar names and “similar” but not the same URL’s:

    I must determine which one has my archives, was paid for, etc.

    Must choose or merge from:

    https://lauraleewriterpoeteducator.com

    OR 

  • Screened (rough draft poem)

    PS It appears I have two blogs with similar names and “similar” but not the same URL’s:

    I must determine which one has my archives, was paid for, etc.

    Must choose or merge from:

    https://lauraleewriterpoeteducator.com

    OR 

  • Last Wednesday’s Night Dream (rough draft poem)

    To M–who survived four years of an urban modern sniping war. I met her as a teaching colleague years later.

    PS It appears I have two blogs with similar names and “similar” but not the same URL’s:

    I must determine which one has my archives, was paid for, etc.

    Must choose or merge from:

    https://lauraleewriterpoeteducator.com

    OR 

  • Good Friday in the Gardens – prose poem

    PS It appears I have two blogs with similar names and “similar” but not the same URL’s:

    I must determine which one has my archives, was paid for, etc.

    Must choose or merge from:

    https://lauraleewriterpoeteducator.com

    OR 

  • We can do Better–Students and Test Scores and Teachers

    From a few years ago:

    This week was tough–the students are edgy, chatty (to the nth degree), and I have found my normally limitless patience–limited. Hmmm… the older I get, the less I know.

    Students seem to be falling apart this time of year. Stress is upon us as standardized testing looms. And all the while, our kids need us, the teacher, the mentor, the caring adult.

    I can only pray–and could use others prayers as well–for enlightened compassionate administrators who understand this.

    Kids are more than test scores.

    Teachers are being judged by kids test scores.

    This pits teachers against kids.

    Only those who don’t need a paycheck can ignore this fact.

    This fact is heart breaking.

    ******************************

    Why?

    Every teacher I respect went into teaching to serve society or help kids. A few went into teacher since they loved their subject area, then grew to love the kids.

    I have not respected a teacher who loved content, but not kids. I cannot relate to that type of person.

    We who chose to work with at risk kids are at a dangerous time in our careers; sometimes our kids can endanger our actual ability to support ourselves, to make a living.

    A student fell apart a few weeks ago, on the date of an important (to the school) test. His scores plummeted 8 grade levels.

    Did they really? No, they did not. This young man was gone for weeks after this, due to the major life problems he was dealing with.

    How does this translate?

    Bad teacher?

    Click. Kid vs. teacher.

    This same student has the respect to wake up, try the test, but it just wasn’t in him that day.

    I defy anyone, any adult with all sorts of success in life, to deal with homelessness and major legal issues and do well on a standardized test that day. We, with our educations and coping skills would feel the strain.

    I had an enlightened and compassionate evaluator this year, and for that I am very grateful. He was in the room another time a student had a crisis, and understood what was going on.

    Click.

    I cannot count on always being so lucky.

    Click.

    Legislation pending to tie teacher ratings with student test scores.

    Click.

    Good teachers can become bad teachers. Or, “bad” teachers.

    Click.

    I must learn to live with this, or I will become a jaded, cynical, bitter teacher, and that is not a good teacher.

    I’ve already changed and feel the stress greatly.

    I do think about kids test scores and scream inside sometimes.


    ****************************

    I remember a time and place where we teachers were trusted, valued, thanked. We worked a tough job, but we knew we had the support of the administration and the community. We felt that we could go on, even though the kids lives were so hard, and try to help them the best we could.

    Then came the change, IT, the relentless and cruel push to test and punish, test and punish.

    And now kids become test scores?


    **************************************************

    Of course not. I had to discipline a student this week who is truly dealing with life changing issues, and could barely sleep. I had sent him to the Deans office, and felt cruel and worried about him. It had to be done, for the rest of the class had to continue, but still…he’s a kid. A kid who had another adult be mean to him.

    Click.

    ***************************************************************

    The moments of joy and grace get fewer as the pressure increases on everyone. I see it in the faces of administration.

    And yet I see glimpses of their caring as well as their exhaustion. They have a job to do. They are not the enemy. I see them in the halls helping kids. I read their memos thanking us for doing a good job in tough times. I know they try so hard to keep our school people focused, but they must also make a living and they are on the firing line due to test scores.

    Click.

    Admin vs. teachers?


    ******************************************

    And yet, the public deserves our very best and our children should be demanding the best from us. The best would be hard work to provide a quality education for each child.

    How to translate that into a test score is the awful issue: it cannot be done.


    *************************************

    As a reading specialist, I will spend much of the rest of the year testing, analyzing data, and writing reports, on top of teaching my classes.

    So testing is big in my mind right now.

    I feel angry that I cannot focus all my attention on the best lessons I can create, on making all the calls home to parents, on writing longer notes on the kids work. So much else to do prevents this.

    Although I try at times.

    Click.

    There are not enough hours in the day but I try to create more by not living a life during the school year sometimes.

    Click.

    6:30 am at school. 10:30 pm still at school.

    Click.

    I wanted to cry, to rush to a window, to smell the air, read a book, something.

    Sick the next day.

    Click.

    My body is human. Just because I have a tremendous drive to do it all well does not mean I can ignore the need for sleep or relaxation.

    The other day, my doctor took out notes and read word for word how long I’ve been telling her that long hours of work are affecting my sleep, my mood, my energy.

    I feel I have been crabby for over a year now, at the best place I’ve worked. At a wonderful place with so many support systems in line and I wonder:

    How are my colleagues at less fortunate schools coping?

    Click.

    Don’t judge others until you’ve been there. I used to do that–judge other teachers harshly who left when the going got tough.

    I never, ever, ever thought I could feel so annoyed that I cannot just teach.

    Just teach? That alone is a never ending job.

    All this testing? I understand the need for accountability, but some of it makes no sense–is mathematically impossible for all children to be above average or average in scores.

    We know that. Everyone knows that. Yet we have to jump through hoops trying to get all kids average or above in narrow tests that don’t look at the whole child.

    Child as test score?

    Click.

    The whole child. The child is not a thing.

    The day I forget that must be the day I leave.

    *********************

    For now, I am so grateful to my caring administrators and evaluators who encourage me to keep on helping kids, trying to mentor them, encourage them.

    For now, I can pay the bills and then some, so I am very lucky indeed.

    I fear for the day when a boy who is in crisis takes a test and those scores cost me my job. I fear that might be the day I fight to teach “higher” kids. I fear that might be the day when no one will want to teach our at risk kids, except for those who don’t need a paycheck.

    *********************************************************************

    For now, I am lucky and grateful.

    And seriously crabby and annoyed too often.

    Click.

    Get it together. Toughen up. Teach them well. Do your best. Be yourself–you are no good at being another person.

    I live for and by my values towards others. I could not be a dispassionate teacher. I tell bad jokes, make weird faces, have earnest talks with kids who are tired, worried, bored.

    And hopeful. Where do they get the hope? I see resilience and joy in many of my students, even the most challenging ones (at times).

    I am not the naive new teacher.

    I am the rebellious but realistic teacher who knows we can and should do better and limit the relentless testing before it harms a nation of kids, before it limits creativity and compassion.

    I am the relentlessly hard working teacher who creates very time consuming lesson plans to try to teach the kids the best I can. I am not the type of person who needs to be checked up on, for I do it as part of who I am.

    I don’t know if I can work any harder.

    ***************************************************

    But for now, it is what is is. I am lucky and grateful, but guarded, knowing things could change quickly. The climate is tense in education in many ways right now. Tense for the teachers, administrators, and the kids.

    We can do better.

    Thanks for reading.

    Laura

    (image from the creative commons)

    PS It appears I have two blogs with similar names and “similar” but not the same URL’s:

    I must determine which one has my archives, was paid for, etc.

    Must choose or merge from:

    https://lauraleewriterpoeteducator.com

    OR