Cardinal Knowledge. 

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I’ve been following the Royal Commission into Child Abuse’s questioning of the now-Cardinal George Pell, and his responses, with interest. 

Every day – no, in fact, every time he opens his mouth to speak, my heart sinks a little deeper and my anger grows a little more. 

I’m glad they are asking tough questions. I am glad he is feeling uncomfortable. I hope he feels ashamed, but I doubt he does. I doubt that anyone is surprised that he didnt want to come back to Australia to testify, or to testify at all. 

Straight up, I will say that I am not a victim of sexual abuse by a Catholic priest, nor by anyone else. Having seen how that has affected others and impacted them and their family, I am continually thankful for that. 

I am interested in this Royal
Commission because I care about other people and because I have a strong sense of justice. 

Abuse or exploitation of the vulnerable by the powerful and privileged angers me beyond words.
As a teacher, as an aunt, as a part-time “other mother”… let’s face it, as a decent human being, I cannot comprehend how someone could knowingly and willingly betray the trust of a child.

I struggle to find decent words to describe how I feel about anyone who enables any priest to keep on abusing children by moving them from one parish to another instead of confronting and calling out their evil predation for what it is. That not the sort of thing that should ever be covered up or overlooked.  

As far as I can see, George Pell is either lying or he was the most ignorant, uninformed, forgetful and self-focused guy going round.
Either way, by his own repeated admission, he has to have been absolutely rubbish at his job.

I do not believe anything he says. I’d be very surprised if anyone did.

I do not understamd how the Pope (or any other God-fearing priest, for that matter) could give Pell his support given his testimony this week. 

If these men are serious about being Christ’s representatives on earth, I could make some constructive suggestions as to where they might start. 

Not as deep as I thought. 

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My students were working on their assignments to create an original interpretation of the story of Beowulf.

All was quiet, until one said, “There’s no more music. Only death.”

I commented on how poetic that was, and asked if she was going to use that for the scene where Grendel attacks the Danes in their mead hall.”

She looked surprised.

“No… I had music notes in the picture and I took them out.”

 

Sigh.

Classroom crisis. 

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This afternoon in class, one of my Literature students commented that she didn’t know what she was doing.

“Do you need help with the task?”

“No, I mean generally…”

Her friend said, “She’s just existential crisising all over the place.”

I looked at her in amazement and said, “Wow!”

I don’t usually approve of verbing, but that was impressive.

Then she continued, “Yeah, but if you want to quote me on it,  you’ll have to sign our agreements and stuff…”
So here I am, quoting her anonymously.  I didn’t sign any contract, either.  

 

 

The Perils of Being a Teacher #23

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Today I’ve been given a Year 8 Maths class to cover for a teacher who is away. 

Maths. Seriously? 

I struggled with Year 8 Maths when I was in Year 8. I have no hope of appearing to master it now, no matter how good an actress or improviser I may be. 

So I advised the class: “I expect you to work quietly and stay focused on your work. If you need help, I strongly advise asking one of your classmates, because I am not going to be of any help to you.”

One boy raised his hand and asked incredulously, “Are you saying you can’t do Year 8 Maths?”

“What I’m saying,” I replied, “Is that my career as a teacher should be an encouragement to anyone who struggles in one area or another. You can be successful, even if something like Maths defies you.”

The strugglers in the class smiled, and everyone settled down to their work. They seem to know what they’re doing. 

Phew. Dodged a bullet there. 

The Perils of Being a Teacher #17

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In a hurry to get ready for my next class, I *almost* mistook a glue stick for my lip balm. 

Let’s just say it’s a very good thing that I have a keen sense of smell. 

As It turns out, I’m not funny. 

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As I was walking through the corridor to the library, one of my Y10 students smiled and said, “See you later’ alligator!”

I stopped her and asked if she knew the difference between an alligator and a crocodile.

Three Y3 girls nearby listened with interest. 

“Not really,” she said, “What is it?”

I answered with a grin, “One will see you later, and one will see you in a while.”

She rolled her eyes and groaned, and then one of the younger girls said, very loudly, “I don’t get it.”

“Yeah!” said one of her friends. “That’s a dumb joke.”

The third little girl, with a look of grave admonition on her face, said, “Teachers shouldn’t tell jokes when it sounds like they’re going to teach you something good.”
That’s me. Failing since 1.05pm today. 

Transplant material?

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My office buddy just called someone on the phone and said, “Hello, I’d like to order 16 brains, please…”

She got a little distracted when I laughed and asked who they were for.

image

You bet!

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Am I tired of seeing ads for betting on sporting events every time I turn the TV on to watch the tennis, football, or any other kind of sporting event?  You bet.
Does it make me angry? You bet.

It’s not just that I am completely, totally, and irrevocably uninterested in gambling. Frankly, I fear for a society that cannot enjoy sporting competitions without feeling the need to place a bet on the outcome.
I fear for a society which is so willing to both promote and engage in an activity which brings so much grief to so many of its people.

I’m angry at the way in which gambling is promoted when people are losing homes, families, jobs, and relationships because of their gambling addictions.
Sure, it’s not compulsory. Nobody makes them gamble. But they do, and it causes incredible pain and destruction in their lives.
The ads on TV that offer help for gambling addicts are vastly outnumbered by the ads for gambling opportunities.

I’m angry at the way gambling is normalised in the minds of our children and young people.  I can’t watch a game of football or tennis, or any prime time TV show, without seeing ads for online betting, mobile phone apps for betting, or some kind of lottery. This presents a very clear and dangerous message to our youth: gambling is fun, gambling is fine, and it will solve all your money problems.  Obviously, that isn’t true, but it’s hard to demonstrate that to a 13 year old.

I’m angry at the greed of the companies that promote gambling, and are more than happy to take money from those who can’t afford it to further line their already luxuriously-lined pockets.
And I’m angry at the government for allowing this to happen, simply because they make good revenue on the taxes and fees that are paid.

So, no. I won’t be putting a bet on my favourite player or team. I won’t be playing the pokies when I go to a pub or club for dinner. And I will explain the dangers of gambling, and the lies of the advertising that promotes it, to my 13 year old and my students in the hope of keeping them from getting sucked into the vortex of the gambling world.

You can bet on that.

 

 

Christmas Adam. 

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Don’t knock the country town!

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Occasionally I experience the discomfort of hearing people laugh, or at least smirk, at the town I live in because it’s small, rural, and offers less than the bigger cities.

It’s not surprising that this gets my hackles up.
Our little town of 1800 people has more to offer than most people realise.

We have doctors. We have our own pharmacy, fully stocked hardware store that also sells building supplies and pet supplies, and a newsagent/stationer that also sells lottery tickets, toys and gifts.

We have two boutique gift stores, a clothing store, lawyers and accountants, and a fantastic hairdresser.
We have a large supermarket, two banks, a top notch bakery, a cafe, an Asian dine in/takeaway restaurant, two other places for “fast food”, a real estate agent, a laundromat, and a butcher,
You can buy furniture, flooring, curtains, bedding and upholstery supplies.
There are two places to get fuel or and three where you can get service for your car. There’s a place that sells tools, trailers, and automotive/engineering supplies. You can get your tyres changed and your wheels aligned and balanced at three different places in town.
And that’s not even starting on the number of plumbers, electricians, and other tradies around.

800px-CobdenThompsonsHotel

There’s a pub for getting a drink or a good meal, or hosting a party or event in. There are also two rather lovely bed&breakfast establishments.

We’ve got a miniature railway, an historical dairy park, a go-kart racing track, a skate park, and a dam for fishing in, complete with geese and ducks. There are two big parks to play in. There’s a golf course, and a golf club that serves great meals and drinks.

We’ve got a footy/cricket oval, tennis courts and netball courts. The footy team go alright, and win their share of games and finals matches. We’ve also got both an outdoor and an indoor swimming pool!

We have a police station, and police officers who are active and involved in the community in positive and proactive ways. They’re helpful when you need them, they work to keep us all safe, and we don’t have to live in fear of harassment or prejudice. In fact, I don’t think there’s ever been a police shooting in this town.

The schools here are full of kids. Really full. There’s no danger of the schools being closed, or teachers being out of work.

We’re only ten minutes away from an excellent hospital, and 45 away from a really big one with all the fancy bits and pieces.

We have people of varying faiths and ethnic backgrounds, living in harmony with one another. Buddhists, Christians, Muslims, atheists, agnostics, JWs and whatever other faiths exist here, all get along just fine, because we’re neighbours and that’s the way it’s meant to be.

People greet each other in the street, and say hello, and wave as they drive past. When someone is in need of help, they get helped. Our healthy collection of churches and service clubs make sure of that.

And we have Christmas music playing in the street – not just Frosty the Snowman and Rudolph, either. They play songs about the birth of Jesus, and the wonder of God’s love for the world. It’s true that “Winter Wonderland” was slightly out of place in yesterday’s summer temperatures, but I know I’m not the only one who yearns to be back in a place they love where it is winter at the moment, or who is, in reality, dreaming of a white Christmas.

Christmas is celebrated in town with activities in the local park, followed by Carols by Candlelight, where hundreds of people gather to sing and celebrate together, on the Sunday evening before Christmas.

We also have Easter celebrations where the churches in town join together and worship Christ as Saviour in public, and plant a cross in the park to remind people that the true meaning of Christmas is actually Easter.

We also celebrate Spring with a big town festival, including parades, art exhibitions, rubber duck races on the dam, and lots of other merriment.

Nobody is offended. Nobody hates on others because they don’t agree. People just keep on smiling, and waving, and saying hello, because that’s what we do.

This town should be the envy of anyone who lives in a place where even one of those things doesn’t happen.

On top of all that, we’ve got fresh air, beautiful farmland scenery, rivers and creeks, and the amazing Great Ocean Road and beaches galore within an hour’s drive.

People shouldn’t be knocking my town. They’re just jealous and don’t even realise it.