The Cheap Seats

I used to be one of those nutty, daily runners. You know the type—always worrying and wondering when he/she will squeeze in a four-miler, meanwhile disrupting everyone else's schedule.  Insufferable, really. All that changed about five years ago when I (mis)diagnosed some mild but constant hip pain as sciatica. Naturally, another year went by before I visited my doctor (the last time I've been to a clinic, as I recall). He took an x-ray and drew some blood (no doubt because I had insurance) and concluded that I was arthritic in my left hip. You could have knocked me over with a shoelace. "You're going to have find some other form of aerobic exercise," he commented nonchalantly, completely misreading an obsessive runner. "Like what?!" I replied, much too harshly.  "Have you tried walking?" The transition to walking wasn't as bad as I'm making it sound. A grudging acceptance eventually took hold—an acknowledgement that I was no

I've always imagined myself a forward-thinking guy, someone with very little time for sentiment or a backwards glance. To-do lists, DIY projects and a variety of activities and obligations constantly filling my calendar. It's all bullshit of course, I'm just trying to stay one step ahead of something—regrets, creeping middle age, poverty, hair loss, weight gain. Take your pick. Still, I kind of enjoy the chase, if only to convince myself that I'm somehow winning.  Approaching the half-century mark two years ago involved a lot of hand-wringing. I'm not sure what I expected, perhaps a complete and total systems failure, some sort of steep and rapid decline across all fronts. You know, what happens to anything the day after a warranty expires or a car has been paid off. Kaput—time to buy a new one. But then 50 came and went and nothing happened—at least nothing swift and sudden. That's when I started paying attention.....and panicking. Succeeding at middle

My definition of a great educator is a person who can teach a student how to do something that the student would not otherwise be able to do or learn on their own. I had many good teachers throughout my childhood, people that worked hard and challenged me and my classmates. The one person who still stands out today in my mind as  great  was a smart, surly and sarcastic math genius named Bob Clark. Mr. Clark's smarts were off the charts. I passed those upper level math classes  only  because of him, plain and simple. If Mr. Clark knew a student was willing to work,  he didn't let them give up or fail. His surliness was mostly bravado but definitely by design, keeping students on their toes as well as burnishing his reputation. The truth behind Mr. Clark's bluster was that he cared very deeply about his students and his subject. The sarcasm, however, was genuine and undoubtedly what his students recall fondly about Mr. Clark. One particular scene played out in hi