It's been a while since Randy has given you an update on his adventureswith A Complaint Free World. I thought you might like to hear my take on his progress.
He thought that it would be easy to stop complaining on day 1 and not complain for 21 consecutive days. Like many things in this world, it has proven to be harder than it looks. Today is the 29th day since he started his challenge and he is on day 1 of the 21 days again.
While our world hasn't been complaint free it certainly has been a lot more pleasant. Randy has a long list of pet peeves that he brings up often. Many of them have become reflex reactions for him. I am very happy to say that his efforts at not complaining have greatly reduced the habitual complaints. And he has been much less angry without the complaints to fuel his anger.
We had been discussing the possiblity of changing our telephone service provider for a couple months and we actually went ahead with it a couple weeks ago. What was described to us as seamless turned out to be more like disastrous. I couldn't believe how calm Randy was as he handled the customer service maze that was required to work out the problems with the new service. (Just in case you were wondering, you are allowed to ask for a problem to be corrected as long as you direct your request to the appropriate person/place.)
Then last week our computer system was attacked by some ruthless hackers. I was amazed that he was not angry aboout the situation. Naturally, he was frustrated by the time and money required to fix the problem but not really angry as he would have been in the past if something like this happened.
Maybe I should give this complaint free stuff a try.
Ann
Monday, November 12, 2007
Sunday, November 4, 2007
Like Attracts Like
"Intellectuals, even more than the rest of us, like to believe that they reach conclusions solely through study and reflection. But like the rest of us, they sometimes choose their opinions to suit their friends rather than the other way around."
from today's New York Times Magazine article on Antony Flew, once a leading atheist, and now the "author" of There is a God: How the World's Most Notorious Atheist Changed His Mind, a new release from HarperOne, the spiritual imprint of HarperCollins Publishers.
The article is well worth reading, but the pull quote is striking. It reminds me of a previously quoted passage from Will Bowen's A Complaint Free World where he pointed out that we tend to gather ourselves into groups that are more like ourselves than different.
Have a great Sunday.
from today's New York Times Magazine article on Antony Flew, once a leading atheist, and now the "author" of There is a God: How the World's Most Notorious Atheist Changed His Mind, a new release from HarperOne, the spiritual imprint of HarperCollins Publishers.
The article is well worth reading, but the pull quote is striking. It reminds me of a previously quoted passage from Will Bowen's A Complaint Free World where he pointed out that we tend to gather ourselves into groups that are more like ourselves than different.
Have a great Sunday.
Thursday, November 1, 2007
Day 18: A Change of Pace
Nitro High School's English teachers are in a tight spot after assigning a couple of incredible books. The censors have come out swinging. Now the author is swinging back.
Pat Conroy's letter about teachers and censorship
October 24, 2007
A Letter to the Editor of the Charleston Gazette:
I received an urgent e-mail from a high school student named Makenzie Hatfield of Charleston, West Virginia. She informed me of a group of parents who were attempting to suppress the teaching of two of my novels, "The Prince of Tides" and "Beach Music." I heard rumors of this controversy as I was completing my latest filthy, vomit-inducing work. These controversies are so commonplace in my life that I no longer get involved. But my knowledge of mountain lore is strong enough to know the dangers of refusing to help a Hatfield of West Virginia. I also do not mess with McCoys.
I've enjoyed a lifetime love affair with English teachers, just like the ones who are being abused in Charleston, West Virginia, today. My English teachers pushed me to be smart and inquisitive, and they taught me the great books of the world with passion and cunning and love. Like your English teachers, they didn't have any money, either, but they lived in the bright fires of their imaginations, and they taught because they were born to teach the prettiest language in the world.
I have yet to meet an English teacher who assigned a book to damage a kid. They take an unutterable joy in opening up the known world to their students, but they are dishonored and unpraised because of the scandalous paychecks they receive. In my travels around this country, I have discovered that America hates its teachers, and I could not tell you why. Charleston, West Virginia, is showing clear signs of really hurting theirs, and I would be cautious about the word getting out.
In 1961, I entered the classroom of the great Eugene Norris, who set about in a thousand ways to change my life. It was the year I read "Catcher in the Rye," under Gene's careful tutelage, and I adore that book to this very day. Later, a parent complained to the school board, and Gene Norris was called before the board to defend his teaching of this book. He asked me to write an essay describing the book's galvanic effect on me, which I did. But Gene's defense of "Catcher in the Rye" was so brilliant and convincing in its sheer power that it carried the day. I stayed close to Gene Norris till the day he died. I delivered a eulogy at his memorial service and was one of the executors of his will. Few in the world have ever loved English teachers as I have, and I loathe it when they are bullied by know-nothing parents or cowardly school boards.
About the novels your county just censored: "The Prince of Tides" and "Beach Music" are two of my darlings, which I would place before the altar of God and say, "Lord, this is how I found the world you made." They contain scenes of violence, but I was the son of a Marine Corps fighter pilot who killed hundreds of men in Korea, beat my mother and his seven kids whenever he felt like it, and fought in three wars. My youngest brother, Tom, committed suicide by jumping off a fourteen-story building; my French teacher ended her life with a pistol; my aunt was brutally raped in Atlanta; eight of my classmates at The Citadel were killed in Vietnam; and my best friend was killed in a car wreck in Mississippi last summer. Violence has always been a part of my world. I write about it in my books and make no apology to anyone. In "Beach Music," I wrote about the Holocaust and lack the literary powers to make that historical event anything other than grotesque.
People cuss in my books. People cuss in my real life. I cuss, especially at Citadel basketball games. I'm perfectly sure that Steve Shamblin and other teachers prepared their students well for any encounters with violence or profanity in my books just as Gene Norris prepared me for the profane language in "Catcher in the Rye" forty-eight years ago.
The world of literature has everything in it, and it refuses to leave anything out. I have read like a man on fire my whole life because the genius of English teachers touched me with the dazzling beauty of language. Because of them I rode with Don Quixote and danced with Anna Karenina at a ball in St. Petersburg and lassoed a steer in "Lonesome Dove" and had nightmares about slavery in "Beloved" and walked the streets of Dublin in "Ulysses" and made up a hundred stories in the Arabian nights and saw my mother killed by a baseball in "A Prayer for Owen Meany." I've been in ten thousand cities and have introduced myself to a hundred thousand strangers in my exuberant reading career, all because I listened to my fabulous English teachers and soaked up every single thing those magnificent men and women had to give. I cherish and praise them and thank them for finding me when I was a boy and presenting me with the precious gift of the English language.
The school board of Charleston, West Virginia, has sullied that gift and shamed themselves and their community. You've now entered the ranks of censors, book-banners, and teacher-haters, and the word will spread. Good teachers will avoid you as though you had cholera. But here is my favorite thing: Because you banned my books, every kid in that county will read them, every single one of them. Because book banners are invariably idiots, they don't know how the world works - but writers and English teachers do.
I salute the English teachers of Charleston, West Virginia, and send my affection to their students. West Virginians, you've just done what history warned you against - you've riled a Hatfield.
Sincerely,
Pat Conroy
I can't add anything to that. So far as the complaint-free project is going, I must start again on my 21 days. We switched phones from AT&T to Insight, and it ain't pretty.
Pat Conroy's letter about teachers and censorship
October 24, 2007
A Letter to the Editor of the Charleston Gazette:
I received an urgent e-mail from a high school student named Makenzie Hatfield of Charleston, West Virginia. She informed me of a group of parents who were attempting to suppress the teaching of two of my novels, "The Prince of Tides" and "Beach Music." I heard rumors of this controversy as I was completing my latest filthy, vomit-inducing work. These controversies are so commonplace in my life that I no longer get involved. But my knowledge of mountain lore is strong enough to know the dangers of refusing to help a Hatfield of West Virginia. I also do not mess with McCoys.
I've enjoyed a lifetime love affair with English teachers, just like the ones who are being abused in Charleston, West Virginia, today. My English teachers pushed me to be smart and inquisitive, and they taught me the great books of the world with passion and cunning and love. Like your English teachers, they didn't have any money, either, but they lived in the bright fires of their imaginations, and they taught because they were born to teach the prettiest language in the world.
I have yet to meet an English teacher who assigned a book to damage a kid. They take an unutterable joy in opening up the known world to their students, but they are dishonored and unpraised because of the scandalous paychecks they receive. In my travels around this country, I have discovered that America hates its teachers, and I could not tell you why. Charleston, West Virginia, is showing clear signs of really hurting theirs, and I would be cautious about the word getting out.
In 1961, I entered the classroom of the great Eugene Norris, who set about in a thousand ways to change my life. It was the year I read "Catcher in the Rye," under Gene's careful tutelage, and I adore that book to this very day. Later, a parent complained to the school board, and Gene Norris was called before the board to defend his teaching of this book. He asked me to write an essay describing the book's galvanic effect on me, which I did. But Gene's defense of "Catcher in the Rye" was so brilliant and convincing in its sheer power that it carried the day. I stayed close to Gene Norris till the day he died. I delivered a eulogy at his memorial service and was one of the executors of his will. Few in the world have ever loved English teachers as I have, and I loathe it when they are bullied by know-nothing parents or cowardly school boards.
About the novels your county just censored: "The Prince of Tides" and "Beach Music" are two of my darlings, which I would place before the altar of God and say, "Lord, this is how I found the world you made." They contain scenes of violence, but I was the son of a Marine Corps fighter pilot who killed hundreds of men in Korea, beat my mother and his seven kids whenever he felt like it, and fought in three wars. My youngest brother, Tom, committed suicide by jumping off a fourteen-story building; my French teacher ended her life with a pistol; my aunt was brutally raped in Atlanta; eight of my classmates at The Citadel were killed in Vietnam; and my best friend was killed in a car wreck in Mississippi last summer. Violence has always been a part of my world. I write about it in my books and make no apology to anyone. In "Beach Music," I wrote about the Holocaust and lack the literary powers to make that historical event anything other than grotesque.
People cuss in my books. People cuss in my real life. I cuss, especially at Citadel basketball games. I'm perfectly sure that Steve Shamblin and other teachers prepared their students well for any encounters with violence or profanity in my books just as Gene Norris prepared me for the profane language in "Catcher in the Rye" forty-eight years ago.
The world of literature has everything in it, and it refuses to leave anything out. I have read like a man on fire my whole life because the genius of English teachers touched me with the dazzling beauty of language. Because of them I rode with Don Quixote and danced with Anna Karenina at a ball in St. Petersburg and lassoed a steer in "Lonesome Dove" and had nightmares about slavery in "Beloved" and walked the streets of Dublin in "Ulysses" and made up a hundred stories in the Arabian nights and saw my mother killed by a baseball in "A Prayer for Owen Meany." I've been in ten thousand cities and have introduced myself to a hundred thousand strangers in my exuberant reading career, all because I listened to my fabulous English teachers and soaked up every single thing those magnificent men and women had to give. I cherish and praise them and thank them for finding me when I was a boy and presenting me with the precious gift of the English language.
The school board of Charleston, West Virginia, has sullied that gift and shamed themselves and their community. You've now entered the ranks of censors, book-banners, and teacher-haters, and the word will spread. Good teachers will avoid you as though you had cholera. But here is my favorite thing: Because you banned my books, every kid in that county will read them, every single one of them. Because book banners are invariably idiots, they don't know how the world works - but writers and English teachers do.
I salute the English teachers of Charleston, West Virginia, and send my affection to their students. West Virginians, you've just done what history warned you against - you've riled a Hatfield.
Sincerely,
Pat Conroy
I can't add anything to that. So far as the complaint-free project is going, I must start again on my 21 days. We switched phones from AT&T to Insight, and it ain't pretty.
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