I read an article today.
It was entitled "Study: Homophobic Lives are 2.5 Years Shorter". (http://www.theatlantic.com/health/archive/2014/02/study-homophobic-lives-are-25-years-shorter/283955/),
This specific article was in The Atlantic but a quick scroll through Google showed that the article had been picked up by countless other on-line news and opinion sites.
The study had been conducted by Columbia University and the University of Nebraska, and had been published in the American Journal of Public Health. So it wasn't some quack study. The researchers did their best to isolate the connection between homophobia and life expectancy, as a measure of stress.
In a nutshell, here is what they found out:
homophobia=hate
hate=stress
stress=chronic stress
chronic stress=physical stress
physical stress=earlier death.
Was this study perfect? Of course not. I've listened plenty of times to Bob's critiques of studies printed in journals, in newspapers. Studies cited by politicians and people with agendas. And I've learned that even the very best studies have flaws, although conducted by the most respected and intelligent people in their chosen fields.
The studies have flaws, even small ones, because people are flawed. Because there is always room for improvement, further study, a closer look.
However even with this study not being perfect, the conclusions ring true...at least for me.
Because hate in any form just isn't healthy.
I'm not only talking about the effects of hate--the terrible things done to innocent people in the name of whatever greater power people cite, whether it be personal, spiritual, political, familial, quasi-scientific or cultural.
Hate isn't healthy for the hater.
Do something for me.
Imagine something you really dislike--like a food or a movie or a slimy weird animal that you just can't stand.
Maybe find a picture of it, or if it is a food, take a small taste, just to refresh your memory.
Really get into your dislike. Describe it to yourself in great detail...textures, colors, smells. If it is an animal or a movie you dislike, do the same--really get into the themes, images that you find most disturbing.
Now, how do you feel?
That tightness in your chest? Your clenched teeth, squinting eyes? That shudder of "yuck" running down your spine? Those retching noises you might be making?
Stress. Tiny stress. Disposable stress that you can easily dismiss, but stress nevertheless.
And this is stress caused by things. By a food, or a fictional movie or an animal you may never see or encounter in your lifetime.
But the stress of hating people....so much greater. Because things cannot help but being things, right? I mean, mayonnaise doesn't have the option of turning into ketchup just to make you feel better. A tarantula can't just decide one day to become a hamster just because you prefer your furry creatures to have 4 legs instead of 8.
We accept that things (including non-human animals) are pretty much unchangeable. They are what they are and we accept that, even if we don't particularly enjoy them.
So why, I have always always wondered, don't we give the same acceptance to our fellow humans?
I'm not talking about the change of growth, learning and maturity. These kinds of change are a vital part of what makes us human--the ability to learn, to renew ourselves. To reinvent ourselves as we want to be, or need to be. To invent new technologies and ideas, stories and creations.
I'm talking about accepting that which we humans cannot change.
Our skin.
Our ethnicity. Our race.
Our past.
When, where and how we were born and grew up.
Who we love.
Accept.
I'm not asking everyone to join in a great big world group hug. That's an unrealistic goal, even for someone as idealistic as me.
But I do ask for acceptance.
Mutual respect.
The absence of emotional, verbal, physical violence.
Raising our laws and political systems to the standards of equality that everyone deserves.
And you know what?
Acceptance does not equal hate.
I don't have to be you. You don't have to be me.
But we can be we, living together on this earth.
Accepting each other. Even supporting each other's right to be here.
Give it a try.
You might even find your grudging acceptance gradually turning into something better and stronger....
maybe admiration, respect, like, love.
And those, my friend, are feelings that can only add years to your life.
Until next time.
Saturday, March 29, 2014
Saturday, March 8, 2014
Everything is a book
Today's realization:
Everything is a book.
Okay, maybe not literally. Conventional books are made of paper and ink and thread and glue. Ebooks are made of electronic bits and bytes. And clearly not everything is made up of paper, ink, thread, glue, bits or bytes.
But figuratively, in the land of symbolism and imagination, yeah, everything is a book.
And what is a book?
It's a container.
A container in which we store ideas and innovation, history and change. We use words to look forward and backward and to stare, rather confused, at the present.
Great. So books are containers.
So is a really great burrito. A burrito is a container for culture, for flavor, for sustenance, for comfort and sometimes for companionship, if enjoyed with others.
Like a book.
So is a cat. A cat is a container for its physical bits, for the scientific stuff that makes up a cat. But a cat is also a container for poetic inspiration, for the evolutionary history of its species. A container for affection and tactile enjoyment and comfort.
Like a book.
So are people.
I realized that everything was a book just today.
My nephew posted an old photo of himself on Facebook, from when he was in his late teens, maybe early twenties.
I was flipping through some of the old photos he had posted, of long gone pets and such, and came upon this particular photograph.
At first glance I thought it was my 17 year old son.
And I realized that people are books.
I saw that picture of my nephew, and the pages flipped forward to the pages of my son's face. I flipped the pages back further, towards the beginning, back to my nephew's face, to his mother's and father's faces. The words and sentences may have changed as the pages were flipped, but the tale those pages told carried through. A quirk of an eyebrow, the angle of a jaw. All of it written there for the reading.
Like words. Related, connected, each built upon he words before them.
The beautiful thing about words and books, is that there are no boundaries about how they can be combined. Each new combination creates a marvelous new story.
Just like people.
And as with people, there are always those who try to tell us what books to read and not read. Those who hold their black markers over the words, censoring ideas with which they disagree. Those who strike the match to burn the piles of books they deem dangerous.
And yet there are always some books that escape the censoring pen and the flames.
Why?
Because all stories deserve to be told. All books deserve to exist.
Someday the books called "humans" might actually realize this.
Until next time.
Everything is a book.
Okay, maybe not literally. Conventional books are made of paper and ink and thread and glue. Ebooks are made of electronic bits and bytes. And clearly not everything is made up of paper, ink, thread, glue, bits or bytes.
But figuratively, in the land of symbolism and imagination, yeah, everything is a book.
And what is a book?
It's a container.
A container in which we store ideas and innovation, history and change. We use words to look forward and backward and to stare, rather confused, at the present.
Great. So books are containers.
So is a really great burrito. A burrito is a container for culture, for flavor, for sustenance, for comfort and sometimes for companionship, if enjoyed with others.
Like a book.
So is a cat. A cat is a container for its physical bits, for the scientific stuff that makes up a cat. But a cat is also a container for poetic inspiration, for the evolutionary history of its species. A container for affection and tactile enjoyment and comfort.
Like a book.
So are people.
I realized that everything was a book just today.
My nephew posted an old photo of himself on Facebook, from when he was in his late teens, maybe early twenties.
I was flipping through some of the old photos he had posted, of long gone pets and such, and came upon this particular photograph.
At first glance I thought it was my 17 year old son.
And I realized that people are books.
I saw that picture of my nephew, and the pages flipped forward to the pages of my son's face. I flipped the pages back further, towards the beginning, back to my nephew's face, to his mother's and father's faces. The words and sentences may have changed as the pages were flipped, but the tale those pages told carried through. A quirk of an eyebrow, the angle of a jaw. All of it written there for the reading.
Like words. Related, connected, each built upon he words before them.
The beautiful thing about words and books, is that there are no boundaries about how they can be combined. Each new combination creates a marvelous new story.
Just like people.
And as with people, there are always those who try to tell us what books to read and not read. Those who hold their black markers over the words, censoring ideas with which they disagree. Those who strike the match to burn the piles of books they deem dangerous.
And yet there are always some books that escape the censoring pen and the flames.
Why?
Because all stories deserve to be told. All books deserve to exist.
Someday the books called "humans" might actually realize this.
Until next time.
Sunday, February 23, 2014
Beckoning....
It started very simply on 8/08/08 at 8:08pm, at The Bean sculpture in Chicago, Illinois....
The Beckoning of Lovely 8/08/08
The next year, on 9/09/09, it quietly continued...
The Beckoning of Lovely 9/09/09
Author Amy Krouse Rosenthal had a vision, you see. She chose to take just one day out of her year, and do something simple and yet tremendous with it.
She would try to beckon lovely. In this case, the loveliness in bringing people together.
On 10/10/10 at 10:10pm, she returned...
The Beckoning of Lovely 10/10/10
This time the crowd was bigger, requiring a bit more planning for Amy, but the simplicity and the message stayed the same.
Again, bringing together strangers to share something lovely.
On 11/11/11, she came back one final time.
The Beckoning of Lovely 11/11/11
I confess after I watched this final video, I felt a little abandoned. If Amy wasn't going to beckon lovely, who would?
The answer is as simple as Amy's goals for this whole project--
we would.
We all would.
Because we can all beckon lovely.
I think our world is in special need of some lovely right about now.
Because I read the news and watch the reports and I wonder,
how can humans be capable of such a level of hate
as in...
Syria
Venezuela
Russia
Arizona
everywhere,
anywhere,
every day...
yet at the same time, be capable of
beckoning such lovely things
if they
really want to.
I guess we have to really want to.
So the question is...do we?
Until next time....
The Beckoning of Lovely 8/08/08
The next year, on 9/09/09, it quietly continued...
The Beckoning of Lovely 9/09/09
Author Amy Krouse Rosenthal had a vision, you see. She chose to take just one day out of her year, and do something simple and yet tremendous with it.
She would try to beckon lovely. In this case, the loveliness in bringing people together.
On 10/10/10 at 10:10pm, she returned...
The Beckoning of Lovely 10/10/10
This time the crowd was bigger, requiring a bit more planning for Amy, but the simplicity and the message stayed the same.
Again, bringing together strangers to share something lovely.
On 11/11/11, she came back one final time.
The Beckoning of Lovely 11/11/11
I confess after I watched this final video, I felt a little abandoned. If Amy wasn't going to beckon lovely, who would?
The answer is as simple as Amy's goals for this whole project--
we would.
We all would.
Because we can all beckon lovely.
I think our world is in special need of some lovely right about now.
Because I read the news and watch the reports and I wonder,
how can humans be capable of such a level of hate
as in...
Syria
Venezuela
Russia
Arizona
everywhere,
anywhere,
every day...
yet at the same time, be capable of
beckoning such lovely things
if they
really want to.
I guess we have to really want to.
So the question is...do we?
Until next time....
Tuesday, January 21, 2014
Happy 2014...Humans are Still Obtuse
Hello everyone...
On a happy note, a very happy new year to you. I send you all groovy groovy vibes of health and joy for 2014.
So it pains me to follow this up with a blog such as this, but I have to let you know that humans are still obtuse.
I have spent the past few days, when I've had time, reading articles and watching videos that point to this undeniable fact.
And while being informed and open-minded and honest about my own obtuseness is great, it still must be acknowledged that KNOWING about obtuseness and WRITING about obtuseness is not ACTION. And without action, nothing will change, so I am clearly a part of the obtuseness problem.
So this video came across my computer screen: The Cove PSA
In it, a cavalcade of actors and celebrities poetically bemoan the horrible plight of how dolphins in Japan are rounded up into a dead-end death pit, either to be carted off to an aquarium or chopped up to be sold as plastic wrapped bits on a styrofoam tray.
This public service announcement was eloquent and gave me heartache and all the "feels".
I have no problem with celebrities doing public service announcements.
My problem was with the inevitable comments below the video. Oh, you know the comments.
"Why can't these celebrities put their money where their mouths are and find a way to spend their way to saving the dolphins?"
"Why can't the rich and fabled 1% spend some of THEIR money to fix situations like this?"
"Why are we all choked up about dolphins when humans are all too willing to eat their aquatic neighbors, as well as their land-bound cow and pig brethren? Shouldn't we care about ALL animals?"
"Why should we be tossing attention and money towards dolphins when we should be spending our money helping poor, suffering humans?"
Are all these commenters correct? In one sense, yes.
It would be nice if more celebrities and rich folks put their money to work for good causes, although to be fair there are plenty of celebrities and rich folks who do just this.
And yes, it is hypocritical for people to only want to save the cute smily anthropomorphic animals, but be willing to nibble on the less visually appealing ones (although I have always thought cows and pigs were cute).
But here we come to the crux of my gripe.
Just to clarify right away, I don't want anyone...ANYONE...to suffer. I don't want starvation, or disease, or pain or war. People are suffering, right now, and we should do everything we can to guide, help, encourage and save.
However...
Humans are not the only creatures on this planet.
Although we clearly are trying to be so. In our efforts to tame, control, own and exploit this planet we have decimated habitats, brought some animals and plants to the brink of extinction while tossing others right over the cliff into extinction. What we aren't busy eating we are trying to domesticate, fiddling with DNA to create animals that can't breathe right (bulldogs) and plants that have lost their ability to reproduce themselves (bananas).
So whenever someone pokes at an effort to save a species of animal or type of plant by saying "But what about the suffering humans?", I get a bit prickly. Not because the suffering humans don't need help, but because animals and plants need help too.
And really, the fates of animals, plants and humans do not need to be mutually exclusive. We can surely, with our big massive brains, comprehend that more entities on his planet besides humans need help.
Just consider what would happen to the food chain--that interconnectedness of all life on this planet--if we lost some of the vital insect, plant and animal links that keep it working?
We're living in the middle of a field of wobbly dominoes, and I am increasingly convinced that it doesn't matter which domino gets pushed--bumblebees, redwood trees, dolphins or people--when one domino falls, the rest of us won't be far behind.
A cautionary tale from Christina for the new year? That is for others to decide.
But a good start towards a good year might be for all of us to take a larger look at our planet, and realize that everything and everyone is a lot more interconnected than many would like to admit.
Sigh.
I'm stepping off my soapbox now....
Until next time.
Sunday, December 29, 2013
Giddy-yup
Hello again.
It has recently come to my attention that 2014 will be the Year of the Horse. As in the Chinese and Japanese Zodiac.
I am rather fond of Horse years, largely because I was born in 1966, which was also a Horse year. This equine connection pleases me and puts me in the mind-set of upcoming good luck. I'm not saying this has worked for me in the past, but hey, there is a first time for everything.
It should be noted here that my idealistic belief in good luck solely based on zodiac horses runs directly contrary to tales in a number of Asian countries (Japan included) of the usual fates of people, and most notably women born in 1966.
In the Chinese zodiac (upon which leans the Japanese zodiac beliefs), in addition to the 12 cute animals dashing around the calendar, there are also elements (fire, wood, earth, water and metal). Combined with the 12 animals, this means that each combination of element and animal repeats itself every 60 years.
And 1966 was the year of the Fire Horse. Element, Fire. Animal, Horse. In Japanese, this is called hinoeuma.
Which especially for a woman, evidently, is not a good thing. In fact, I have perused a number of population graphs detailing births in 1966....and on each chart there is a sharp downward spike centered on 1966.
It seems that people just were a wee bit afraid of having a Fire Horse child, and especially wary of that child being a daughter who would grow into a Fire Horse woman.
And considering the beliefs surrounding Fire Horse women, I can rather understand the hesitancy. We Fire Horse women are supposed to be serious bad luck, capable of destroying finances, being utterly terrible mothers and driving the men in our lives to ruin and early deaths.
Before writing this, I spent quite a bit of time searching the Internet, skipping from site to site, reading newspaper articles, astrology websites and blogs, looking at population graphs and a wide variety of graphics. Predictably I found varying levels of belief in the terrors of Fire Horse folks.
In the end, all I can really rely upon I suppose is how I live my own life. And I am pleased to say that while we are not rich, our lack of millionaire status is not utterly my doing. Likewise, Patrick and Aya are healthy, happy teenagers (well, as happy as teenagers can be I suppose). As for the bad luck prediction, I'm not going to make any judgements on that for fear of jinxing myself. However the evidence points to our periodic bouts of normal bad luck being less the fault of me being a Fire Horse, and more due to the ebb and flow of life itself.
So as I sit here in our icy kitchen, huddled in layers in front of a tiny space heater, I only have one lingering question about being a Fire Horse.....
if I'm a FIRE Horse, why am I so darn cold?!
Sheesh.
Until next time....
It has recently come to my attention that 2014 will be the Year of the Horse. As in the Chinese and Japanese Zodiac.
I am rather fond of Horse years, largely because I was born in 1966, which was also a Horse year. This equine connection pleases me and puts me in the mind-set of upcoming good luck. I'm not saying this has worked for me in the past, but hey, there is a first time for everything.
It should be noted here that my idealistic belief in good luck solely based on zodiac horses runs directly contrary to tales in a number of Asian countries (Japan included) of the usual fates of people, and most notably women born in 1966.
In the Chinese zodiac (upon which leans the Japanese zodiac beliefs), in addition to the 12 cute animals dashing around the calendar, there are also elements (fire, wood, earth, water and metal). Combined with the 12 animals, this means that each combination of element and animal repeats itself every 60 years.
And 1966 was the year of the Fire Horse. Element, Fire. Animal, Horse. In Japanese, this is called hinoeuma.
Which especially for a woman, evidently, is not a good thing. In fact, I have perused a number of population graphs detailing births in 1966....and on each chart there is a sharp downward spike centered on 1966.
It seems that people just were a wee bit afraid of having a Fire Horse child, and especially wary of that child being a daughter who would grow into a Fire Horse woman.
And considering the beliefs surrounding Fire Horse women, I can rather understand the hesitancy. We Fire Horse women are supposed to be serious bad luck, capable of destroying finances, being utterly terrible mothers and driving the men in our lives to ruin and early deaths.
Before writing this, I spent quite a bit of time searching the Internet, skipping from site to site, reading newspaper articles, astrology websites and blogs, looking at population graphs and a wide variety of graphics. Predictably I found varying levels of belief in the terrors of Fire Horse folks.
In the end, all I can really rely upon I suppose is how I live my own life. And I am pleased to say that while we are not rich, our lack of millionaire status is not utterly my doing. Likewise, Patrick and Aya are healthy, happy teenagers (well, as happy as teenagers can be I suppose). As for the bad luck prediction, I'm not going to make any judgements on that for fear of jinxing myself. However the evidence points to our periodic bouts of normal bad luck being less the fault of me being a Fire Horse, and more due to the ebb and flow of life itself.
So as I sit here in our icy kitchen, huddled in layers in front of a tiny space heater, I only have one lingering question about being a Fire Horse.....
if I'm a FIRE Horse, why am I so darn cold?!
Sheesh.
Until next time....
Wednesday, December 18, 2013
The Power of being ever so slightly uncomfortable
Hello all,
I think I approach the world in a very weird way.
Most people live their lives seeking comfort. They want the money that will buy the lovely squishy sofas and the luxurious blankets, the bubbly bubbly hot tubs and the first class airplane seats that include sips of wine and elbow room.
I, of course, love all these things too. I don't necessarily get all these things, but I love the idea of these things. I too have bought into the whole concept of earning money earning money earning money towards my someday comfort.
But overall I don't approach the world with little dollar signs (or in my current situation, yen signs) dancing in my eyes.
I approach the world with a specific philosophy: living with slight and steady discomfort is good for us.
I don't mean physical discomfort. I don't choose to sit in a chair with sharp spikes on it rather than a regular chair. I don't start my day walking over hot coals or drinking straight vinegar. I don't go to sleep at night on a bed of ice cubes and hydrochloric acid.
I mean discomfort in a broader sense.
In my humble opinion, we live in a world of complacency. We get lulled into daily routines, monthly obligations, Monday through Friday zombie movements followed by weekends of either exhaustion or excess. Or both exhaustion and excess, depending on the person.
And what is the remedy for complacency? Discomfort. Shaking things up a bit. Going outside our comfort zone, in ways tiny and huge.
For example, this is our third time living in Japan. At this point we have lived a significant portion of our lives in a state of slight discomfort. By this time there are aspects to our lives in Japan that have taken on a whiff of that dreaded complacency. Now that I'm teaching again, I get up at the same time every weekday morning. I eat pretty much the same thing for breakfast (because I hate eating breakfast but need to do it, so I eat what seems palatable, even if it isn't logical). I take the same bus. I walk the same streets. Once in the classroom I maintain the same daily schedule because young students need their immediate future to be reliable and fairly predictable.
But there is a huge part of our lives that we cannot take for granted. We cannot be complacent when it comes to navigating long train rides to new destinations. We cannot take for granted that we necessarily will know how to navigate the Japanese tax system, or know what that besuited man at the door is trying to sell to us.
I won't lie to you. Living on the edge of comprehension is not for everyone. And there are many MANY times when we find it exceedingly tiresome and annoying and downright discouraging. But hey, at least we can't be complacent.....which is my point.
I think it is important for us to choose to do things, to see things, to explore things that make us slightly uncomfortable. Feeling unsettled, needing to take the time to explore our own feelings and beliefs, challenging ourselves keeps us humble and helps us stay open to the diversity of the world.
So when I hear about a news commentator, or a politician or anyone spouting off what essentially amounts to hatred, I just think "Well, there's a person who is way, way too comfortable."
Ain't it the truth.....
I think I approach the world in a very weird way.
Most people live their lives seeking comfort. They want the money that will buy the lovely squishy sofas and the luxurious blankets, the bubbly bubbly hot tubs and the first class airplane seats that include sips of wine and elbow room.
I, of course, love all these things too. I don't necessarily get all these things, but I love the idea of these things. I too have bought into the whole concept of earning money earning money earning money towards my someday comfort.
But overall I don't approach the world with little dollar signs (or in my current situation, yen signs) dancing in my eyes.
I approach the world with a specific philosophy: living with slight and steady discomfort is good for us.
I don't mean physical discomfort. I don't choose to sit in a chair with sharp spikes on it rather than a regular chair. I don't start my day walking over hot coals or drinking straight vinegar. I don't go to sleep at night on a bed of ice cubes and hydrochloric acid.
I mean discomfort in a broader sense.
In my humble opinion, we live in a world of complacency. We get lulled into daily routines, monthly obligations, Monday through Friday zombie movements followed by weekends of either exhaustion or excess. Or both exhaustion and excess, depending on the person.
And what is the remedy for complacency? Discomfort. Shaking things up a bit. Going outside our comfort zone, in ways tiny and huge.
For example, this is our third time living in Japan. At this point we have lived a significant portion of our lives in a state of slight discomfort. By this time there are aspects to our lives in Japan that have taken on a whiff of that dreaded complacency. Now that I'm teaching again, I get up at the same time every weekday morning. I eat pretty much the same thing for breakfast (because I hate eating breakfast but need to do it, so I eat what seems palatable, even if it isn't logical). I take the same bus. I walk the same streets. Once in the classroom I maintain the same daily schedule because young students need their immediate future to be reliable and fairly predictable.
But there is a huge part of our lives that we cannot take for granted. We cannot be complacent when it comes to navigating long train rides to new destinations. We cannot take for granted that we necessarily will know how to navigate the Japanese tax system, or know what that besuited man at the door is trying to sell to us.
I won't lie to you. Living on the edge of comprehension is not for everyone. And there are many MANY times when we find it exceedingly tiresome and annoying and downright discouraging. But hey, at least we can't be complacent.....which is my point.
I think it is important for us to choose to do things, to see things, to explore things that make us slightly uncomfortable. Feeling unsettled, needing to take the time to explore our own feelings and beliefs, challenging ourselves keeps us humble and helps us stay open to the diversity of the world.
So when I hear about a news commentator, or a politician or anyone spouting off what essentially amounts to hatred, I just think "Well, there's a person who is way, way too comfortable."
Ain't it the truth.....
Friday, December 6, 2013
Mini-Jig: Somewhere between 18 and 78
Hello there,
Yesterday in Japan (still today in the U.S.) was my birthday. And of course, if one is a teacher, especially a teacher of small children, the first question asked once the tots get wind of a teacher's birthday is "How old are you?"
To which teachers everywhere answer "How old do you THINK I am?"
Because we want to encourage critical thinking and inquiry, you know.
So yesterday I was asked the question "How old are you?"
And I responded, as required with "How old do you think I am?"
Let the fun begin.
One of my students yelled out "18!".
I said "I love you. However I am older than 18." (disclaimer: I tell my students I love them and love being with them multiple times each day. So no one went away thinking that I only bestow my love upon one child. But come on...I mean, they guessed 18.)
Another student hollered "75! My grandpa is 75!"
Before my eyes could finish rolling back in their sockets another student said "No way, Ms. Christina has no gray hair. She can't be 75. She's 62."
The first student scowled and said "Maybe she paints her hair. Ms. Christina, do you paint your hair?"
I let the question pass and said "I am younger than 62. Guess lower."
The room filled with the numerical joy of 5 and 6 year old voices.
"21!"
"One hundred thousand hundred million!"
"29!"
"41!"
I cut in "41 is getting close. Guess higher."
Everyone seesawed between one hundred thousand hundred million and 41 for awhile until one of the students intoned, with utter solemnity "Ms. Christina is 47."
I gave her a thumbs up as everyone began trying out that number: "She's 47." "47" and from our class mini-mathematician, "Forty plus seven is 47. Forty two plus five is 47. Forty six plus one is 47....."(he continued on in this manner for awhile, as is his habit when confronted with numbers.)
But the madness did not finish there....because for the next fewminutes everyone switched their number guessing fervor for frantic comparisons of how much older or younger I am than their parents.
"My dad is 45."
"My mom is 42. Ms. Christina is older than my mom."
and my personal favorite
"Ms. Christina is the same age as my dad, but my dad looks way better."
By the time the yelling faded away and the students had drifted off to other pursuits, I decided that I would file this most recent episode of Kindergarten madness under "Math". Of course.
Now excuse me while I take my one hundred thousand hundred million year old self off to the grocery store....
Until next time.
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