Teachers @ MindSay 
school
When Calvin Coolidge said "The business of America is business," he and very few if any others knew just how deep this sentiment would sink into the American consciousness. Now it seems apparent that the way business thinks has muscled every other kind of thought process out of the American mind. The unfortunate result is that if no business solution exists to an American ailment, it festers into an incurable American disease.
Two kinds of thinking dominate the business mind. One comes from the paradigm of manufacturing; the other from the paradigm of marketing. Both have been used as the basis of education bashing.
If looked at in terms of the manufacturing paradigm, education is likened to the assembly of parts into a product. And the paradigm decrees that if the worker assembles the parts correctly, a good product is produced. If the product produced turns out not to be good, the conclusion drawn is that the worker did not assemble the parts correctly.
The paradigm, of course, is very problematical. It overlooks questions of design and materials among other things. Nevertheless, the paradigm is pervasive. And it is the foundation of some education bashing.
The educated student is likened to a product, subject matter is likened to its parts, and the teacher is likened to the worker. When the student turns out to be uneducated, the conclusion is that the fault lies with either the subject matter or the teacher. So we are subjected to interminable curriculum debates, reform, and teacher bashing.
If looked at in terms of the marketing paradigm, education is likened to selling. The idea is that if teachers packaged the material in attractive ways, the student would buy it.
This paradigm too is problematical. It overlooks the fact that just because a product is bought has no bearing on whether the buyer uses it at all or to its best advantage. Nevertheless the paradigm persists, and when it turns out that the student is unable to use the product or use it well, the conclusion drawn is that the way the product is packaged must be faulty, and since the teacher is the packager, the ultimate responsibility for the failure is, yes, the teacher’s! So we debate teaching methods and tools. We hear things like, "Make learning fun," "Turn the classroom into a game room," "What we need is more toys in classrooms," the toy of fashion being the computer. And we bash the teacher again for not being an entertainer, forgetting that if teachers were entertainers, they wouldn't be in classrooms.
But education fits neither of these paradigms. The educated student is not a product assembled by teachers, and learning is not a game. Furthermore, both of these scenarios overlook things that should be blatantly obvious.
The first of these is that educated people have existed in all the eras of recorded history. People acquired educations long before the school and the classroom were invented, people acquired educations long before anyone even thought of things called teaching methods, so the methods, the schools, and the classrooms cannot be sufficient conditions for the education of students.
The second should be even more obvious. Almost every teacher teaches a group of students called a class simultaneously. Every student in the class is exposed to the same material presented in the same way. Some of these students learn a lot, most learn some, and some only a little. How can this be if the teacher and the material are at fault?
During my many years as a university professor, friends often asked for the names of good colleges to send their children to. My answer always baffled them. Although there are various way of "rating" colleges—the number of professors with terminal degrees, the number who publish, the number of Nobel Prize recipients, the size of libraries, etc.—I know of none that measures the amount of learning acquired by graduating students. So I used to say "If your child is a good student, he or she can get a good education at any accredited college, and if your child is not a good student, he or she will not get a good education at any college."
The point is that, and it should be obvious, education has very little to do with the teacher or the teaching and almost everything to do with the student. Yes, of course, an exceptional teacher can produce exceptional results in some students. And yes, facilities, books, and equipment do have some bearing. But neither of these affect all students. Even exceptional teachers find it necessary to fail some students, and everyone who attends schools that have the best facilities and equipment doesn't graduate either.
So the real question ought to be how do we rear good students? The other questions are really irrelevant, for no matter how they are answered, unless we can find the answer to the first question, the result will be the same, the debate will go on, and teachers and teaching will continue to be bashed.
The ultimate truth is that a social institution can be no better than the society that supports it, and unfortunately American society is not and has never been intellectual. Intellect and scholarship have never been esteemed. Too many parents don't or can't read. Too many homes lack educational resources. Books, magazines, and journals, especially good ones, are lacking in too many homes. Television is pervasive and from the point of view of intellect, is almost universally bad. It deserves its nickname, "boobtube." Intellect and scholarship are not the "business of business" and therefore not the "business of America." And I might add neither is education.
What do children see when they notice what American society does esteem? Entertainment, sports, and marketing. Therein lies the fame, the honor, and the rewards of being an American.
So what do our children want to be? Actors, rock stars, football players, salespeople, and in some cases, simple criminals, and none of these requires great intellect or a broad education.
Until this cultural attachment changes, America will have a problem with its educational system. So unless you're more optimistic than I, the teachers of America should acclimate themselves to teacher bashing just as they have acclimated themselves to low pay and low esteem, for good students cannot be reared en masse in a culture with these ideals.
What makes comparisons of the American educational system to the educational systems of other countries so insidious is that this aspect of a supporting culture is always overlooked. Students in those countries learn more than American students merely because those cultures rear better students, not because of better teaching, better teaching methods, or better equipment. And as long as we continue to believe that teachers and teaching are to blame, our students will not only learn less, but as time goes on, learn less and less.
This space attempts to answer the question of how sick a student must be to miss class.
On the one hand, we have that common sense suggests that if you have any of the following symptoms,
A fever over 100,
Too much nausea to allow you to drive,
Gushing mucus from your nose (and possibly other orifices)
The sort of cough that suggests that your lungs are fighting with their inlaws again.
...you probably should not be around people. You should be home. In bed. With fluids. And possibly homework.
On the other hand, you have the instructors who insist that the only way you're going to miss class and not have your grade suffer for it is with a doctor's note.
I don't know what most students do. I can tell you what I've done for most of my life, which is to only go see the doctor if it's plain as day I won't get better on my own. Didi once expressed, "What do I need a doctor for? All they're going to do is tell me I'm sick and charge me $400. I already know that."
This is by no means to suggest that we disrespect doctors. Rather, that we only really want to make use of them when we really need them. If I have fractured something, or maybe if I took a fastpitch to the kidney (anytime there's blood in the urine, you at least call the hospital, and drink your cranberry juice), then yes, a doctor will likely be in order. If I have a flu, well, I'm going to curl up in my bed with a giant stack of books and homework, drink enough fluids to fill Dickens' busted wine cask, and sleep. Doctor can't help a whole lot there.
And the result of that space is a certain vengeful sort of student. I'm not sure that the insist-on-a-doctor's-note* instructors realize this, but they're setting themselves up for a kind of bioterrorism.
"Gosh, I knew I wasn't feeling so hot, Mr. Keller, but I really couldn't afford to go to the doctor, so I had to come to class anyway. What's that? You'll be out sick the rest of the week? Wow, that worked out nice, maybe I'll get a chance to recuperate, too!"
Doodle-doodle-ee-doo.
*One of the funny things about living in this town - they will specify that the doctor cannot be a family member. :) It's a hospital community. More than half the students have parents or siblings who are Mayo staff.
HI Everybody,
First I want to tell you "Thanks" for taking the time to drop in and keep up with this story, or whatever else you're here checking out.
Next, due to the fact that this series of posts might be deemed to contain just the tiniest smidgen of adult sounding stuff I have to include the following warning to this post;
“XXX Warning!” “XXX Sex!” “Warning XXX!”
Hey this is your XXX Sex Warning. This stuff might need your parents OK for you to read it if you're under thirty years old.
“Seriously!”
So If your not adult enough to be reading this kind of stuff go away now! Don’t bother coming back and griping at me, or to anyone else, if you decide to read past here -->X<-- and your virgin eyeballs get blistered or you get offended by what you read either Boo.
A Neighbors Teenage Daughter
A True Story
BY: PUSSYPATTER
aka
Wendy Tight Tush
© 21 June 2007 All rights reserved
Chapter Four
Chapter Four
I said, “I’ve only been fucked by a couple of guys Mr. Tanner,” sounding slightly embarrassed as I spoke. “Really?” he replied, cutting me off in mid sentence and sounding somewhat astonished when I’d said that, “you’ve only had sex with a couple of guys?”
I said, “No silly” giggling girlishly. That question had lightened my mood somewhat. I could feel my face beginning to flush with sexual excitement at the thought of what was yet to come as I said, “I’ve actually been fucked by several different men now” still giggling lightly, and giving his pulsating cock a nice firm squeeze as I spoke.
“What I was starting to say is that I’ve only been fucked by a couple of guys who were anywhere near my own age…” I said, “like my last boyfriend” while slowly stroking Mr. Tanner’s manhood behind me. “But almost all of the guys that I’ve allowed to fuck with me have all been men…” I said, “and I mean grown men like you Mr. Tanner.”
Mr. Tanner had replied, “Really?” sounding somewhat skeptical and a bit dismayed by the fact that I had been screwing grown men already. “And why's that Wendy?” he asked questioningly.
“Well” I said “I guess that it’s because the few times that I did let a guy my own age have sex with me” giving his swollen male member another nice firm squeeze as I spoke, “were extremely lacking in sexual satisfaction” a wistful tone evident in my voice, “at least they had been for me”. “And I always had to finish myself off with my own fingers” I said, “that is if I wanted to cum after they had finished with me” adding, “because most of the younger guys just don’t know how to fuck… I guess.”
I said, “I was never able to cum from the action of any of the younger guys dicks working inside of me Mr. Tanner”. “Oh…” Mr. Tanner replied, “is that so?” a hint of sexual intrigue evident in his voice as he spoke.
“Yeah” I answered, “they would fuck me for like five or ten minutes, shoot their load, and be ready to leave as soon as they had smoked a cigarette”. “But as I remember it” I said, “when I’d seen you and mom doing at it, you guys had really been going at it for a pretty long time before you had finally allowed yourself to cum.”
“You know” I said, “you were using a lot of different sexual positions with mom”, “you were turning her every way but lose, doing lots of kissing, licking, massaging, and stuff like that.”
I turned around to face him with a hot, burning, carnal lust evident in my emerald green eyes as I said, “It had seemed to me as though mom must have cum at least a dozen times before you had finally relented, and had filled her with your baby making juice” gazing lustfully into his eyes as I spoke.
I knew from the expression that I had seen on Mr. Tanner’s face, when I had turned around to face him, that he had no doubt left in his mind that I was a woman with a mission. And I was pretty sure that he knew that I had fully intended to pursue it through to its conclusion too.
Then I had shyly explained to him that I had masturbated myself, more times than I could even count, while I had been fantasizing about the arrival of this day.
During this time we had each had a couple of more beers and I had gotten up the courage to tell him that I had already experienced a number of lesbian encounters which had been extremely sexually fulfilling, unlike all of my sexual experiences with guys my own age had been, which had simply been one letdown after another.
I had explained to Mr. Tanner that although I had been way more than willing to indulge myself in the perverted lesbian lifestyle, and that I had truly enjoyed the sexual experience at the time that it had happened.
I explained how I had been the one who actually initiated the initial sexual encounter myself, and that I hadn’t been pushed away even though I had been extremely young at the time.
I have since come to realize that everything that had happened, leading up to the night that I had had my first lesbian encounter hadn’t actually been “all my idea” the way that I had thought that it had been when it was happening after all.
Now, when I look back on everything that had happened, I realize that I had actually been being played, or guided as it were, and that I had been being coaxed, ever so fucking subtlety, into having sex for several days before I had finally taken the bait, and done my first bit of pre-pubescent muff diving.
Anyway, not only had my first female partner been a whole lot older than I had been, she had also been really…, really, patient in getting what she had wanted from me.
That bitch had dammed sure taken her sweet, easy, time working with me, getting me into the right state of mind for what she had planned for me, and she had used the “go slow” approach with me to get what she had wanted from me.
And by breaking me in to the homosexual lifestyle of having same sex sexual relations, in the way that she had gone about doing it, not only had she been able to quickly overcome all of my sexual inhabitations but she had also succeeded in assuring herself a place in my sexual life for several years to come.
Now, for better or worse, I have to admit that she has since been able to drive me to some extraordinarily high sexual heights, but then that’s a story for another day.
So anyway, once I had finished telling Mr. Tanner my story he understood full well that his sexual good fortune today was directly linked to the inexperienced, “hurry the fuck up girl”, “all I wanna do is cum in you” type of sex that I had been subjected to by the few guys my own age, that I had ever had sex with.
He also understood that that was what was pushing me so hard to consummate something that had started out as a young girl’s first masturbation fantasy several years ago.
Don’t get me wrong here, I mean that with the exception of a dozen or so ‘grown men’ that I had been allowing to fuck me on a regular basis back then, men who could fuck the dog shit out of me for two hours at a time, fucking-nonstop, and would make me cum my brains out multiple times any time that they fucked me, the younger guys just weren’t doing it for me.
That was when Mr. Tanner said, “I think we would be a lot more comfortable laying down” then asked, “don’t you Wendy?” before I had had a chance to answer. I blurted out, “Oh Heck Yeah”, “but only if I can get totally naked Boo” becoming giddy with sexual excitement at the prospect of getting fucked, then added, “at least I know I would” giggling childishly.
I felt a hot wave of carnal lust quickly sweeping across my body as I looked at him asking, “so where’s the bedroom Mr. Tanner?” A broad smile of lustful satisfaction had quickly crossed his face as he had taken me by the hand and led me down the hall to a bedroom.
Once we had walked into the bedroom I had stood just inside the door, looking around at my surroundings, as I casually said, “this isn’t your bedroom” stressing the word “your,” then asked “is it Mr. Tanner?” “No” he replied sounding somewhat puzzled, “it isn’t.” “This is a guest bedroom” Mr. Tanner said, then asked “why Wendy?”
I replied, “Because when you take me” a mischievous grin playing on my lips, “I want you to take me, and make love to me in your bed” once again placing some heavy emphasis on the word ‘your’ while standing there staring lustfully into his eyes.
Mr. Tanner asked, “why’s that Wendy?” not sure why I was balking at the idea of getting fucked in the guest bedroom adding, “this beds’ just as good as mine.”
To which I had quickly replied, “Oh no it isn’t Mr. Tanner” adding, “you don’t understand Mr. Tanner” slowly backpedaling toward the door as I said, “a couple of weeks ago, when I was at the mall, I overheard your wife referring me as nasty little tramp, and pointing me out, while she was talking to one of her lady friends ” as I had backed out of the door.
“Then” I said, “last week I saw Ms. Diana pointing me out to some ladies at the supermarket, and heard her referring to me as your ‘dirty little nigger whore’ and a ‘horny little slut’ while she was gossiping with them.”
“So” I said, my voice thick with carnal lust and sexual revenge, “when you fuck me today I want you to be fucking ‘your dirty little nigger whore’ in that white bitches bed” as I stepped back into the hallway adding, “just like the horny little slut Ms. Diana accused me of being” the tone of vengeful, sexual, lust more than evident in my tone of voice.
I knew that Mr. Tanner had liked and agreed with what I’d just said when I saw the lustful smirk that had started creeping across his face as he said, “you’re sure right about that Wendy”, “Diana sure can be a bitch at times.”
“Then my bedroom it is” Mr. Tanner replied, taking my hand as he said “come on Wendy” then led me through the house to the master bedroom.
When Mr. Tanner had showed me through the door to the master bedroom I had looked around the room, rather pleased with myself and content in the knowledge that ’this little nigger whore’ was now about to be getting her brains fucked out on ‘Ms. Diana’s bed’, as Mr. Tanner led me across the room, stopping alongside of a king size bed centered along the wall at the far end of the room saying “here it is Wendy.”
“Is this where your wife sleeps Mr. Tanner?” I asked softly as I caressed the edge of the mattress. “No” he replied, “she sleeps on the other side of the bed.” “Oh” I said softly, trailing my fingertips along the comforter as I walked slowly around to the other side of the bed saying, “then I think I’ll enjoy it a whole lot more if you fuck me…” as an evil smile began to play across my lips, “or rather make love to me on this side of the bed Mr. Tanner.”
Once again I had seen a knowing smirk slowly spread across Mr. Tanner’s face as he had followed me around the foot of the bed a few seconds later saying, “girl you’re evil” as he slowly moved up behind me adding, “but I do have to admit” taking hold of me by my hips, and pulling my ass cheeks back firmly up against his steely hard manhood as he spoke, “I do like your wicked way of thinking Wendy”
“So Wendy” Mr. Tanner said, sliding both of his hands first around in front of me and onto my hard flat belly adding, “under the circumstances” while quickly moving his left hand up to fondle my tits, and sliding his right hand down to my pubis at the same time, then pulling up and back against it, pulling my rump back firmly against his groin as he did and asking, “don’t you thing you could start calling me Tim instead of Mr. Tanner?” as he did.
“Sure Tim” I replied, turning my face slightly trying to glance back over my shoulder as I laid my head back against his chest saying, “as long as it’s OK with you and you don’t think I’m being disrespectful or anything Mr. Tanner.”
“Good” Tim replied, “from now on I want you to call me Tim whenever we’re alone Wendy” moving both of his hands down to my hips, tugging back gently on my right hip while pushing forward on the left, turning me around to face him in the process, then slowly drawing my body up against his as he did.
Once I was facing him and we were standing belly to belly, Tim had started sliding his hands gently down across the rounds of my buttocks. I had quickly encircled his neck with my arms and had quickly pulled myself up against his broad muscular chest until our lips had met and we had began kissing me passionately.
All the while Tim had been reveling in the sexual joys of being allowed to fondle a piece of jail baits ass cheeks to his hearts content.
And I mean to tell you that that man had damned sure been enjoying himself, squeezing one of my tight round ass cheeks with one hand while fondling my breast with the other as we stood there kissing too.
As for me, I was enjoying the sensuality of the moment and was reveling in the sexual sensations that I was receiving from the feeling of Tim’s manhood, which was throbbing ever so sensually, against my body while he had it pressing firmly against my mons pubis.
I wasn’t sure if it was just my imagination or not, but I was thinking that Tim had gotten a lot more sexually aroused than he had been at first, and I could’ve sworn that his cock had seemed as though it had just grown a couple of sizes larger while he was running his hands back and forth over the rounds of my rump too.
Fuck…, I was in a nymphets sensual heaven while Tim was standing there holding me firmly by my ass cheeks and pressing his, hard, throbbing, cock against the firm flesh of my mons veneris, and grinding himself seductively against me.
Once we had finally had enough kissing to hold us for a couple of minutes, Tim had stepped to one side of me, taken hold of the comforter, flipped it back and kind of folding it a couple of times to get it out of our way as he did.
Then he had turned back to me, taken hold of me by my waist, turning my ass towards the side of the bed as he did, then walked me backwards a couple of step until the backs of my legs had bumped gently against the edge of the bed.
I had been slightly embarrassed because I could feel that the crotch of my panties had gotten soaking wet, with my own vaginal secretions, and I could feel them clinging to my pussy lips like a second skin.
I knew from the expression that I had been seeing on Tim’s face, every time that he looked down towards my snatch that they were showing a great deal of definition of my camel toe too.
Then, grinning hungrily at me, he had pushed me slightly back and down at the same time as he had sat me down on the edge of his wife’s side of the bed. Once I was seated Tim had taken me by my shoulders, then bending forward he had laid me slowly over on my back, leaving my legs hanging out of the bed in the process.
Once Tim had me laid down he had just stood there for a few moments allowing his eyes to feast on the sensual sight that was laying there before him. Then he had slowly spread my legs, just enough for him to be able to get between my knees as he had slowly knelt down between my feet.
Once he had gotten himself comfortable Tim had began kissing and licking my trembling thighs while allowing his hands to make themselves at home, caressing my belly and mons veneris, as they helped him to become better acquainted with my body.
Then I had started wondering what the fuck was going on when Tim had leaned forward and had just held his face between my open thighs, with his nose so close to my twat that I could feel the heat from his breath every time that he would exhale, for several seconds.
“Oh God!” I thought, almost franticly, “I hope I don’t stink” but knowing that I had douched before I had gotten dressed to come over had lessened my apprehension somewhat.
Then after several awfully tense seconds of uncertainty I had finally realized that he was simply savoring the scent of my sexual excitement… which was emanating from my vagina.
To Be Continued…
OK, That's it for this chapter. All comments are welcomed. Click "Here" to jump up to Chapter Five.
♥Wendy
32803-090707-245171-30 Rate content:
© 2009 All Rights Reserved.
The parents all seem to be pretty understanding, and it doesn't sound like the lady will lose her job or anything.
I bet she'll triple check before she sends anything else home with the kids.
So far in this class, i have learned alot. I am one of those people that doesnt like to keep up with technology stuff and i sometimes dont want to try new things. Since being in this class, i have learned how to create my own website, how to create an online survey, how to post threads for discussions, how to make mind maps, and now i am learning how to create my own blog. Not only have i learned how to make these things, i have also learned about many important resources that are available to me. For example, the website called creative commons where people can share their ideas with others and choose how to do so.
In my classroom, i could use web blogs for some assignments. I could have all the students make an account with a website like this or i could have them post a blog on my own classroom website. This could serve the same purpose as the discussion section on blackboard. After we finished a project or went over some content, my students could communicate with their classmates about what they learned or what they still dont understand. Not only can they communicate with their own classmates, they could communicate with other people depending on their settings for their blogs. Again, i think that making my students use technology will help them to stay involved with everything. Assigning assignments like this is helping them outside of the classroom as well.
Showing 1 - 5. [ Next ]
