the day America was tortured--I will not say died

I wish I could take a snapshot of yesterday, Sunday, March 21, 2010, a day that will go down in world history as the day America almost died.

Yesterday you ran around in the shotgun pattern range while Mom and Dad took turns shooting our pistols and rifles. It was one of those days I wished you could remember, and one of those days when I wished you were older because other moms and dads had brought their kids to shoot too. Dad has fallen in love with reloading, one because it exercises his mind, and two it has increased his accuracy. I'm not good enough right now to appreciate reloads like I used to. Do you know that the last time we were out there you couldn't yet walk? It's been too long, but you're now at an age I feel like I can participate again.

We ate doughnut holes while I helped Dad find jobs. We were still able to dream about a better life that morning. For dinner we ate home made mac n' cheese, fried pork chops, salad, and strawberry shortcake. It doesn't get much more American than that.

Dad watched the American political process (although I hate to think that process has been reduced to a facade, a disguise of the corruption and struggle for power) while I played ostrich to the turning point of our country and watched a movie.

In my spare minutes throughout the day I began to read the biography of Daniel Boone.

We were the all-American family enjoying an all-American day.

And today? Today is close to the same, but with different thoughts, with more concerns, with a sense of despair, and a sense of desperation that I might die seeing you free. I must resign myself that I will not live free, but Lord may our sacrifice not be in vain. Today redoubles my effort commit the truth to my heart.

I'm relieved that I don't have to work today. Typically classroom management, our quick pacing, and the content keep my mind from visiting the larger purpose of my work, but I think today would be different. I keep seeing the faces of my students, and I have this nightmare that I am speechless before them. What purpose is there in teaching them to write well, if not with eloquence, when they might be forced to make a living picking our meager crops? What purpose is there in our discussions of unjust laws and the responsibility of a people to be just when their sense of justice lies in social justice? What purpose is there in teaching them to recognize the fears of mobocracy and hubris in literature? Why teach them the warnings behind Brave New World when they do not heed the warning? If they asked me "why" today, I think I would either get red in the face while trying to bite my tongue off or cry.

These thoughts come on the heels of a federal grant application for our school that will essentially redistribute your taxes to students who pass Advanced Placement exams. Excuse me? And my school wants this money. I'm so Hillsdalian that it took me two days to remember that I do, after all, work for a public school that operates on public money. If I don't like it, I'll need to start my own private school.