by James Burns | Oct 19, 2018 | Behavior Management, James Burns, Respect, Responsibility, The Bully Proof Classroom, The Ramblings of a Dinosaur
Thank God for Nick at Night. You know the station that gives you shows like “Leave it To Beaver” or “Lassie.” I was watching“Leave it To Beaver the other day” and could not help but notice how all the adults were called Mr. and Mrs. No Ms. back then. Of course, Eddie Haskell was a bit of a phony when he addressed Beaver’s parents. “Hello, Mrs. Cleaver” or “Hello, Mr. Cleaver.” Then Eddie would run up to Wally’s room and refer to Wally’s dad as “Your old man.”
The question I asked myself is whatever happened to Mr. and Mrs.? Even when I worked as a principal the students called me Burns not Mr. Burns. I listen to my kids refer to their friends mom or dad as Colleen, Tony, Rich, or Barbara.
Lets face it…respect is just not there any more. Everyone thinks that the ground is level. Is anyone in charge out there or is a kid our peer? The less respect kids have for the casual adults they meet, the less respect they will have for teachers, police officers, and yea their employers.
Let’s see if we can turn the tide a little. Speak to the parents of your kids friends and call them Mr. or Mrs. especially in front of your kids. Let’s get our kids to show respect for folks that are older than they are and make them aware that the ground is not level, somebody is older and smarter than they are so they should be treated that way.
I have a dear friend who I have known for 25 years. He has four boys between the ages of 26 and 39. I have known them since they were teenagers and younger. They were calling me Mr. Burns up until 5 years ago. That is when I told them to call me Jim.
by James Burns | Oct 12, 2018 | Baby Boomers, Behavior Management, Bully Proof Classroom, James Burns, Parents, The Bully Proof Classroom, The Ramblings of a Dinosaur
Have you ever wondered why your parents did some of the things that they did. I did lots of times. My dad had so many regimented activities that I thought he had a screw lose or something. I’m only going to talk about two here because there are too many to put into one essay.
I really spent time observing my dad as a kid and listening to him. It wasn’t until I was about forty that I realized some of the benefits of his behavior and, very recently, some of the real benefits of his behavior. My dad had an unbelievable fear of getting a cold. He came home from WWII with malaria and tuberculosis. He was always cautious of sharing food, towels, cups, and silverware. Any watermark on silverware in a restaurant was sent back immediately.
I remember one time in a restaurant in New York a fork went back three times. Some people send food back. He sent the silverware back. It got so bad that one guy sitting close to use told my dad that the he thought that the waitress was on Candid Camera.
If you sneezed you were accused of trying to bring a cold into the house, to try and kill him. He was hospitalized on December 27, 1967 due to a re-occurrence of the TB and was sent to the infirmary at the veteran’s hospital in East Orange NJ for 3 months. When he was released from the hospital anything and everything could give him a cold.
Two things were absolutes, cold feet and white flour. I never saw my father walk around without shoes or slippers on. He wouldn’t walk three feet without putting on a pair of slippers. If you sneezed, he would always ask you what you ate. My sister, my mother, and I thought he was crazy. Bare feet and white flour would make you sick and if you got sick, well as he put it, “If I get a cold I am finished.”
All of these things I observed always stuck with me. When I was about 40 years old I started to battle my weight. Always watching my calories and trying to stay in shape. The Atkins diet started to become very popular along with other diets that restricted carbohydrates, and other foods that contained you guessed it, white flour. Exactly what the old boy was talking about 30 years ago. Suddenly everyone had a carbohydrate allergy, was gaining weight, had type-two diabetes, high blood pressure, and all kinds of health issues because of white flour. I started to watch my white flour intake and I started to lose weight. The stuff I loved as a kid was something that could kill me. The stuff that my father said could make me sick was making me sick.
Recently I was walking around the backyard wearing a pair of three dollar flip flops. I have a tendency to drag my feet when I walk primarily because my feet are kind of flat, something my dad had also. I walked from the shed to the concrete walkway and slammed my right foot into an Adirondack chair. I know I broke the middle toe. At least it looked broken.
The next day passing through the garage I stubbed the same toe on a hand weight in the middle of the floor. I got into the car in agony, looked down at my foot which had the same three dollar flip-flop on it and I could hear my father say to me, “Will you please put your slippers on.”
This isn’t the first time I stubbed that toe but it is the first time it dawned on me that my father knew me because I was just like him. He didn’t want me to go through the same agonies that he had gone through. He didn’t want me to get fat or stub my toes. Unfortunately, he just had a strange way of letting me know. I don’t think he ever gave me the reason why he did what he did. That’s probably why it took me thirty years to figure it out on my own. If I could ask for something I would ask that my two daughters learn the reasons why I do what I do quicker than I learned things from my father. There’s a question that kids ask all the time “Why do we have to do this?” Sometimes by the time that gets figured out, it’s too late. So put your slippers on and have a piece of whole wheat toast, you’ll be glad you did.
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by James Burns | Oct 11, 2018 | James Burns, Parents, The Bully Proof Classroom, The Ramblings of a Dinosaur
Wounds Can Be Healed With The Right Words and Actions
As a young boy I experienced all kinds of problems in my family. My father was a bar owner and a binge drinker. His behavior was very unpredictable at times, and we never knew what was going to set him off. We were always walking around on egg shells because we didn’t want to say or do something that would send him off on a drinking binge.
I knew though that my father had a real interest in me, and wanted the very best for me. He just had a hard time expressing how he felt. As I became older and entered my teenage years my dad started to enjoy watching me play high school and community league baseball. He would go to my games, leave alone when the game was over (as I went with my friends), and would usually say very little to me about my performance. I never really expected him to say anything, so I was never disappointed.
During the summer of 1971, I was 16 years old. My first cousin, Jim, and I spent a lot of time together at each other’s houses. We played baseball and hung out with other kids. I enjoyed the visits and so did he. He was an only child and I was the only boy in my family. We had a lot in common, and during this time, we were pretty good friends. My cousin wasn’t quite as good at baseball as I was but he was what I call a rooter. He enjoyed watching baseball and really enjoyed watching me play.
During one of his visits, I had a scheduled game. I had to be at the game early so my dad and cousin came later. During the game I had three hits including the game winning hit. I was the catcher and threw three runners out trying to steal second base. I had a great game. When the game was over my dad drove my cousin back to his house, and I hung out with my friends.
I went home, went to bed, got up early the next morning and left the house. The normal routine was that my mother would open the bar in the morning. My father would sleep a little later and then relieve her in the bar around 11:00 in the morning. He would work until about 4:00 in the afternoon and then come upstairs and take a nap. I can always remember him sitting in his recliner napping in the afternoon. He needed that nap; he was in his late 50’s and had to be ready to work the night shift.
That afternoon, I returned home around 5:00 to find my father in his recliner, but he was awake. He jumped up out of his chair like he had a spring under him. He ran over to me and hugged me hard and said, “I was so proud of you last night.” I thanked him, and I felt him squeeze me like he never did before. I felt the warmth of his body, but even more felt the warmth of his words.
I’m in my 60’s now and I still remember that hug and those words. Some-times parents can say so much to their kids about their performance that it can almost seem like white noise. Most kids know their parents are going to speak well of them because they are their parents. But sometimes kids can get a false sense of their abilities when their parents go overboard with the praise. But, the right words of praise and encouragement at the right time can actually change a child’s life. In my case, my dad didn’t offer a lot of praise. As a matter of fact he was very critical of me at times.
This experience was life-changing for me. I quickly forgot all the times my father had said critical things to me. As a father myself, I know I have the power to determine how my own children view themselves. A father’s words do truly make a difference.
by James Burns | Oct 8, 2018 | James Burns, Parents, Relationships, Respect, Responsibility, The Bully Proof Classroom, The Ramblings of a Dinosaur
SECTION ONE
THOUGHTS ON THE FAMILY
BEFORE YOU SIT DOWN AT THE “FAMILY TABLE” YOU BETTER TAKE A LOOK AT YOUR FAMILY TREE
It never ceases to amaze me how we can believe that an actor/actress on a commercial is really the character he or she portrayed on a sitcom. Watching T.V. the other night, Roseanne Barr was doing a commercial on Nick@Nite talking about the importance of having dinner at the “family table.” So the commercial flashed back to her and John Goodman on a Roseanne episode sitting at the dinner table engaged in an argument which was supposed to be funny to the viewer. The point of the commercial was that it doesn’t matter what goes on at the family table as long as you have one.
As a kid, we had a family table. It was a war zone. I’m sure that many people can relate to my family table, and I am sick of calling it that, too. (What is this new term –family table- anyway?) In my house, the family table was more like the family zoo. It didn’t really dawn on me how crazy it was until my sister started dating, and she would bring one of her boyfriends home for dinner. The poor guy would sit there and watch as my father cooled a baked potato. You know, the way everyone does it. Take the potato out of the skin with a fork and hold it about two feet in the air for about 15 seconds and stare at the steam. Then wave it up and down like a magic wand 4 or 5 times until you think it is cool. We all knew it was still hot. He would start to eat it, and then he would leave his mouth half open while he sucked air in to try to cool it.
You see, my father was a short order cook when he was younger, and he was also a mess sergeant in the army. I guess he thought that made him some sort of chef. He always complained about my mother’s cooking. She wasn’t very open to his comments either which led to the battle lines being drawn between the two of them.
My dad also watched his diet; his dinners consisted of a small piece of protein, a vegetable, a potato, and a slice of bread. My mother consistently made those meals for him every night for dinner. But she always fed my two sisters and me the good stuff; you know, all starch and no protein. That really got to him. The question he always asked was, “Why are you feeding them that?”
I tell you, he was purely disgusted by the meals we ate. My father didn’t want me to get fat, but I did. I never knew when he was going to make another negative comment about my diet. One night I ate about a pound of macaroni and meat sauce and a loaf of Italian bread for dinner while he had his standard sparse dinner. He didn’t say one word to me about what I was eating; he just watched. It was almost fun eating dinner with him. I was surprised, but very relieved that he had let me eat my delicious dinner in peace without making one negative comment about my unhealthy dinner.
About two hours later I sneezed. I said, “I think I’m getting a cold.” That was a mistake. He couldn’t wait to jump on that. He said, “Well, that stuff you ate for dinner tonight, you could catch anything from that, and you gobbled it up like dog food.” My father, the general, won that battle after all. He got me.
There were many little idiosyncrasies he had. One day he picked up the butter dish at the dinner table and he found a hair in it. A riot nearly broke out. He walked away from the dinner table thinking that it might be a pubic hair. He wore dentures that were out of his mouth every waking minute that he wasn’t eating or working. They usually fell out of his mouth when he started to yell. That’s when he would rip them out of his mouth so he could finish his tirade. Before he came to the table his teeth had to be brushed, cleaned, and rinsed for about 10 minutes. My mother would call him to dinner really early so he would have time to get his dentures polished up. She knew he hated cold food and didn’t want to listen to him complain.
One night he was going through his denture ritual spit shining his teeth for an unusually long time. My mother must have called him to the table for 20 minutes. He finally sat down, took three bites of food, and looked at me and said, “Cold.”
My mother went nuts because she had done everything humanly possible to get him to the table while the food was still hot. He proceeded to laugh at her outburst which predictably ended in another battle. This time, the general had the land mine perfectly placed and she stepped on it.
Diet was always on my father’s mind. One evening, my sister was leaving for a friend’s house at the dinner hour. My father said to her, “Aren’t you going to eat dinner with us?” She said, “No, I ’m eating at Carol’s house.” He said, “Oh you are.” After she left he looked at me and said, “She’ll eat those greasy foods over there and have fat legs like Carol.” Lucky for her! She got out before the general decided to open fire.
My oldest sister left home and moved to New York when she was 21 years old. I just can’t imagine why. She would come back to visit once a month or so. My sister had the ability to eat fast, and I mean really fast, like she was going to the electric chair. My father, on the other hand, was the slowest eater on the planet. She would be finishing eating and he would just be getting started. When she was done eating she got up and started to clear the table and do the dishes. In a small kitchen the strong smell of Lux Liquid started to become really noticeable. Not to mention my sister’s soapy hands clearing the table were leaving soap suds behind – you guessed it – on my father’s food. War, this meant war. My sister didn’t have a chance to surrender and throw up the white flag. She was blown right out of the house and back to Brooklyn Heights.
The Family Table is a popular new term that is supposed to mean that dinner time is where families should be talking, and building strong relation-ships. This is a good idea. But in my case because of my father’s personality and food related phobias, our “family table” was not the place this could happen. Remember, you don’t need the family table to talk to your kids. You can talk to your kids in the family car. I love spending time with my own kids. I don’t have to be at a dinner table. We’re all too fat anyway. Don’t get me wrong. I think it’s great that we have dinner together and chat and enjoy each other’s company, but not because Roseanne says I should, but because it is something that’s fun.
Society always tries to hook some gimmick to things that occurred years ago in a very natural way. In my case my father had more conversations with me in the car than he did at the dinner table. We always went on long car rides and having conversation was a very natural thing to do. I have more conversations with my kids in the car and while we are working on projects than I do at the dinner table. Try talking to your kids without food in your mouth.They might hear what you’re saying a little better.
by James Burns | Oct 7, 2018 | James Burns, Principles, Professional Development Opportunities, The Bully Proof Classroom, The Ramblings of a Dinosaur
INTRODUCTION
THE RAMBLINGS OF A DINOSAUR
I don’t even know why I am writing these essays. I really have never had a passion for writing. I was never very good at it- I’ve always felt that my strong suit was speaking. I’ve rambled on at speaking engagements about things that trouble me to hundreds of people and I do believe that my ramblings have value.
I am a baby boomer. I was raised over a bar and watched my parents work 14 hour days in their own business and, eventually, I did the same when I was 18 years old. I never had any intention of going to college, because I thought I’d naturally take over the bar, but my dad made me go. He didn’t want me to take over the business. He wanted something better for me.
During my first semester in college my cumulative average was a 1. I never thought I’d make it. Unbelievably, I did and graduated with a 2.9 cumulative average – not bad. I went into teaching Special Education in 1977 and learned how to manage emotionally disturbed kids. In 1989, I moved on into school administration. I began my administrative career as a principal in a school for disturbed kids and finished my career as an administrator in schools from between 500 and 3,000 students. .
I have watched the incremental changes that have taken place in the family, in schools and society over a period of over 40 years. Quite honestly, I am really sick about what I have seen. I always thought I was a principle centered person. I wanted to run schools in sync with my principles. Now I see that I’ve become a dinosaur. My ideas just don’t fit any more.
I went into public speaking around 1992 and have done in-services, work-shops, keynotes, parent programs, and student assemblies. When I speak to people, most seem to agree with my philosophy. But when it gets down to brass tacks, it just too hard to fight city hall, or your own kids, or the board of education, or a bunch of parents or maybe just the way things are in society in general.
Having taken a good hard look at the way things are today as opposed to the way they used to be, I have gone off on tangents at conferences and did nothing but speak from my heart. I feel as though my way of thinking is slowly becoming extinct, but I believe that people should still be listening to me. I have written a set of essays. Some paint a picture of me personally, some are about my philosophy as an educator, and some are about my observations about how things are going in the world right now. As I ramble on about these subjects, you will see why I call these essays The Ramblings of a Dinosaur.
by James Burns | Dec 19, 2015 | James Burns, The Ramblings of a Dinosaur, Uncategorized
Have you ever wondered why your parents did some of the things that they did. I did lots of times. My dad had so many regimented activities that I thought he had a screw lose or something. I’m only going to talk about two here because there are too many to put into one essay. I really spent time observing my dad as a kid and listening to him, and it wasn’t until I was about forty that I realized some of the benefits of his behavior and very recently some of the real benefits of his behavior. My dad had an unbelievable fear of getting a cold. He came home from WWII with malaria and tuberculosis. He was always cautious of sharing food, towels, cups, and silverware. Any watermark on silverware in a restaurant was sent back immediately. I remember one time in a restaurant in New York a fork went back three times. Some people send food back he sent the silverware back. It got so bad that one guy sitting close to use told my dad that the he thought that the waitress was on Candid Camera. If you sneezed you were accused of trying to bring a cold into the house, to try and kill him. He was hospitalized on December 27, 1967 due to a reoccurrence of the TB and was sent to the infirmary at the veteran’s hospital in East Orange NJ for 3 months. When he came out that’s when anything and everything could give him a cold. Two things were absolutes, cold feet and white flour. I never saw my father walk around without shoes or slippers on. He wouldn’t walk three feet without putting on a pair of slippers. If you sneezed he would always ask you what you ate. My sister, my mother, and I thought he was crazy. Bare feet and white flour would make you sick and if you got sick, well as he put it, “If I get a cold I am finished.”
All of these things I observed always stuck with me. When I was about 40 years old I started to battle my weight. Always watching my calories and trying to stay in shape. The Atkins diet started to become very popular along with other diets that restricted carbohydrates, and other foods that contained you guessed it, white flour. Exactly what the old boy was talking about 30 years ago. Suddenly everyone had a carbohydrate allergy, was gaining weight, had type-two diabetes, high blood pressure, and all kinds of health issues because of white flour. I started to watch my white flour intake and I started to lose weight. The stuff I loved as a kid was something that could now kill me. The stuff that my father said could make me sick was making me sick.
Recently I was walking around the backyard with a pair of flip-flops on. I have a tendency to drag my feet when I walk primarily because my feet are kind of flat, something that I also inherited from my dad. I walked from the shed to the concrete walkway and slammed my right foot into an Adirondack chair. I know I broke the middle toe, at least it looked broken. The next day passing through the garage I stubbed the same toe on a hand weight in the middle of the floor. I got into the car in agony looked down at my foot which had the same $3.00 flip-flop on it and I could hear my father say to me, “Will you please put your slippers on.” This isn’t the first time I stubbed that toe but it is the first time it dawned on me that my father knew me because I was just like him. He didn’t want me to go through the same agonies that he had gone through. He didn’t want me to get fat or stub my toes he just had a strange way of letting me know. I don’t think he ever gave me the reason why he did what he did, that’s probably why it took me thirty years to figure it out on my own. If I could ask for something I would ask that my two daughters learn the reasons why I do what I do quicker than I learned things from my father. There’s a question that kids ask all the time “Why do we have to do this?” Sometimes by the time that gets figured out it’s too late. So put your slippers on and have a piece of whole wheat toast, you’ll be glad you did.
