Friday, November 19, 2021

 Friday, November 19, 2021

 

   I had a bad night’s sleep.  I have been worrying about the Rittenhouse trial.  While I believe this seventeen-year-old naïf deserves compassion, the problem is how would a seventeen-year-old black boy have been treated in a similar situation.

  I learned the police did spot Rittenhouse standing there waving that gun around and gave him a thumbs up.    Now, what if there had been a seventeen-year-old black boy standing there with an assault rifle?  Any bets?  Do you think- well, that’s different? Really, why. They are both seventeen-year-old boys with assault rifles. What’s the difference?  The black boy was there to protect lives, the lives of the protestors, not just property but lives.  Do you feel differently about the black boy’s intent than Rittenhouse’s?  Why? If the police stopped that black boy, what do you think they thought? Felt? Would have done?   

   Rittenhouse cried on the stand.  He was scared. No black boy will cry; they are trained not to. Why do you think black parents teach their children not to cry, no matter what? Does that mean the black boy was less scared?

    Would the judge have been as open to giving a black boy a way out as he was Rittenhouse?  It’s not that I think Rittenhouse should have been treated worse. I don’t. He was a child. He didn’t have the brain development to make a wise decision. He saw himself as a hero without thinking the situation through. Yes, the three people who pursued him made threats.  However, no one would have been killed if he hadn’t had that gun.  

    According to the Internet, a seventeen-year-old cannot buy a gun. This means that his parents should be sued.  He is both their legal responsibility because he was under eighteen, and he used their gun. Either that assault rifle wasn’t locked up, or they gave it to him, knowing what he was going to do.  Their brain development was complete. They can be charged with negligent homicide. 

   I’m sure some people will read this when it is posted on the blog next year who feel that blacks should be treated differently from whites. After all, everyone knows that blacks are. .. . . . . . , and whites aren’t. Should there be any question, I am for equality under the law. 

   I woke up to the news that Rittenhouse was acquitted on all counts.  I have one question. I’m sure someone knows the answer to this. I can’t believe the prosecution overlooked it.  I saw a picture of someone carrying an assault rifle. It’s long.  How can someone shoot someone in the body if they are grabbing for the rifle? If the rifle is pointed down when someone grabbed for it,  the shooter couldn’t get it up that high. Maybe he’d have shot someone in the foot or the knee, but it wouldn’t have been lethal.  If he was pointing the rifle at his assailants, they would have directed away from themselves when they grabbed for the gun.

   I wonder if the adult Rittenhouses are proud of their son or distressed for him?  Do they consider him a hero, or do they realize the trauma he’s experienced and how this will affect him for the rest of his life? Do they care?  Is killing people they disagree with their top priority?

   When I went out for one of my short periodical walks, I found the plastic container troth I put out for the pigs and turkey had been shattered. Given the timing and the distribution of the parts, it seems unlikely it was done by a pig.  Paulette came driving by when I discovered it. She pulled over at my request.  She said she had seen it intact when she left an hour ago. Pigs, the only animal big enough to break it, are nocturnal.  They wouldn’t have come out in the heat of the afternoon.  Also, the smaller pieces were scattered over a 10-foot range. No way a pig would have done that.  The pig would have broken it by stepping in it; all the pieces would have been over a small area.  Someone must have driven over it. Accident or deliberate?  I certainly hope the former.  

    I had the W & M sisters. I started with first grade M as I always do.  I was concerned about her. I had done visualization work to release her fear of making mistakes. She had a reaction I had never seen before.  She felt the exercise increased her fear. Yet today, I thought she was more relaxed, exploring possible answers and making mistakes as she learned. Indeed, not where I would like her to be.  If someone is terrified of making mistakes, it blocks learning. Good learners love to explore and learn from their mistakes. I asked her what she wanted to work on. I told her I had a preference, but I would be happy to do what she wanted to do. I work to teach student agency over their learning experiences. I wanted to apply The Phonics Discovery System I & II to second-grade material.  She said she wanted to work on “the names.”  This refers to a story she wrote that I was using to do the Phonics Discovery System. Okay. Great, in fact.  The session was relaxing and fun for me.

    However, after half an hour with her sister, fifth grade W, I felt exhausted.  She hates the work, all the work.  Because she once disparaged her efforts because the work was ‘easy,’ I have concluded she believes if she is not miserable while working, she’s not doing anything worthwhile.  Ow!  Today I had her reading transcribed material.  Up to now, we have just been using untranscribed material (Transcribed: t-r-a-n-s/c-r-i-b-ed; untranscribed: transcribed). Working with her is agony for me.  This is new. I have worked with difficult students my whole career.  I find it interesting.  I watch them the way fishermen watch the end of the fishing line.  It’s relaxing. Now, I writhe. This can’t possibly be all her fault.  Where has my patience gone? My fascination?  Is this because I’m through wanting to work with individual students? Do I only want to work teaching people who to use the process?  Or are my nerves shot because of my loss, Mike’s death in 2019, and the extraordinary worldwide political and economic situation? Certainly, these are all stressors.  It’s still upsetting.  I have time to take on more students. I don’t want to.