Of Things Unusual and Mundane

Today was a student free day at school so I decided it was an opportune time to post a blog update.

Life here is mostly how I like it: in a nice, predictable pattern that keeps me moderately busy. That is not to say that The Boys are predictable. Au contrare. Well, after typing that, I begin to rethink it. The Boys are predictable in their unpredictability.

Case in point: Upon collecting an assignment recently, I was entering in the gradebook who turned what in on what date, and while I was not marking the assignment (one teacher marks ALL the projects for consistency in grading, my day will come. Oh yes, my day will come...) I was inspecting it to see who followed directions, etc. It was then that I noticed that two of them were...the same.

Not similar. Identical. Well, identical except for the font (and that hadn't been changed in every place.) Needless to say, this is a breach of academic integrity. So I went through the dance of calling parents, telling them what happened, checking on procedure with the Head of Curriculum (what some would call the Academic Vice Principal in the Northern Hemisphere), and generally keeping everyone involved appraised of the situation, making sure that All Righteousness was fulfilled. It was funny, because one of the things I *wasn't* in this instance was angry. I really was disappointed with the boys who thought that The Man Who Talks Funny was either:

A) Blind or,

B) Stupid

but I wasn't angry or anything. I felt pretty good about the way that I handled it and with the discipline that I meted out in this particular case. I felt like it was fair and just. I think the boys were contrite and a little afraid, which is a reasonable reaction when dealing with an unknown quantity like a foreigner such as myself. But I actually like both of these students and, inshallah, we have nipped an academic problem in the bud and they will learn from the experience the next time they think: "Hey, maybe I could just..."

In other areas, I am heading back out to West Wyalong tomorrow for the Queen's Birthday Weekend. (You Northern Hemisphere types had Memorial Day weekend a couple weeks ago, it's now our turn for a long weekend.)

West Wyalong, you may recall, is a place of great consolation for me. It was a place of good people and good ministry, so I look forward to showing up back out there this weekend on the altar. It will be good to be presiding with those communities of good people again. And I look forward to riding with the pastor again as he runs over kangaroos. He claims that the only time they have ever threatened his automobile is when I am riding with him in the car. But this is a long, (and messy) story. I demure from justifying his scurilous accusations with a response. I am no 'roo magnet.

I feel like I'm still getting my feet on the ground, culturally and educationally. I'm still trying to work out the significant differences between the US and Aussie systems. Usually it happens that I am chugging along and I ask the wrong question, which I don't even know is the wrong question. Then I get a response that, to the responder, must seem self-evident. But it illustrates the tribal social nature of teaching, like all professions; it has its own language both in the US and here. And frequently the name for a concept I have is very different from the term used here in the Great South Land of the Holy Spirit. So I probably look like an idiot to my peers in the Religious Education department. But they are tolerant of my idiot savant nature for the most part and always helpful.

I've also helped out with a couple fundraising things. But I am really nervous about that one because while I may have some proven facility in this realm, I have no desire to be 'The One Who Can Raise the Funds" as many are. I like working with the boys directly too much for that. Ah, yes, I wandered from that earlier.

I find I DO like working directly with The Boys. They are frequently like some sort of amusing subject from a Walt Disney nature short. You know, the one where the raccoons get in to the cabin and get up to all kinds of hijinks that make you laugh. Unless, of course, it's your cabin. But more often than not, their intent is good. This sometimes just smooths out the ride to Hell, of course, as the old saw goes. But it is frequently funny to observe too.

I am also preparing for an immersion trip with a group of 14 Boys to the Philippines in late June through mid-July. I really think it will be a good trip, if a challenging one. We take the boys to an orphange for a week, we work in a very rural village building Habitat for Humanity style houses for a week and we work in a maximum security Filipino prison for a week. Yes, you read that last line correctly. Needless to say, the visions of disaster that dance through my head are myriad. But they've been running the trip for a long time and with great results, I hear. Apparently the prisoners like and respect The Boys we bring and there have never been any problems. That was all prior to my arrival, of course. But I shall reserve judgment until the trip is done.

Someone recently asked me if I was homesick. I hope that those of you I left in the Northern Hemisphere will not take it ill if that I replied in the negative. I miss a great many of the people, yes, sure. But I really like the turn that my life has taken here. I begin to feel a part of something again. Something corporate here. I am still in the early stages, yet, of course. And many things may change. One of the unexpected joys I have come to here is how many immigrants there are here in Australia and how quickly they accept another immigrant (me, in this case.) I find myself wondering if this is how it was for my forbearers who came to the United States. While I am a foreigner and cannot, and do not, want to pretend otherwise, there is a comfort in it too. In being an alien I find a strange comfort. I miss people, but the missing isn't as great as the happiness I've felt with the life I've started down here, which has several things that were missing for me back in the states for the last several years. That's all I'm going to say about that.

I have, because of the lack of internet access in the Jesuit community house where I live, been unable to use Skype, as I like to, to call via voice people I care about in the North. So, if you have been expecting to hear from me, and you haven't, you know why. That should change some time in the next week or so, inshallah. They're supposed to be getting me some sweet, sweet broadband access over there, so some of you should literally be hearing from me soon. But, aside from the broadband, I pray for all of my friends and family in the Northern Hemisphere daily. That will have to do for now.

That's a wrap for now.