What are holes made of? Pt 2 Language

bullet-holes-1744860_640bykiwikong

This is a mind purging follow up to my 2015 blog What are holes made of? Pt 1 Science. In it, I share a story from a kindergarten class where I asked them the title question. This post continues the conversation about holes and their simple and complex nature.

When we are in debt, we are in the hole. When prisoners are put into solitary confinement they are going down into the hole. Alice in Chains and the Police sang about holes. There was even a band called Hole. Who could forget that The Beatles sang Fixing a Hole on Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band? (I almost did)

Holes are similar to hunger. There are lots of holes in the foods we eat. Have you ever looked at a pancake or meringue? The lighter and fluffier the better. This has me wondering whether holes get confused with bubbles from time to time? If we really think about it at a molecular level, there are spaces in between everything – therefore holes.

Sports are filled with analogies about holes. A baseball player or golfer who is struggling to hit the ball is said to have a “hole in their swing”. Baseball players have been asked, on more than one occasion, whether there is a hole in their gloves?

In football, the offence is always looking to punch a hole through the defensive line in the hopes of seeing a little daylight on a running play. If a team does this enough times then they could score multiple time. If that happens, then their opponent might not be able to climb out of the hole they’ve made. Ouch.

Speaking of ouch, losing a player to injury will leave a “hole in the team”. Many fans have holes in their hearts when their favourite teams lose a game. Some of them could become motivational speakers for as often as they extol the virtues of patience, devotion, and ‘there’s always next season”. Maybe these die-hard fans have books in their futures?

Not surprisingly, there are books about holes. And at least one movie has been made about holes. Although, I’m not quite sure of the title. So with all of these holes to see through, what’s it all about?

When any of use language it can go a number of ways. We can dig ourselves into a hole with our words, or we can dig ourselves out just as quickly. Holes happen in arguments. When this happens such logical fallacies in one’s words expose them down to the profoundest levels. It is often said that a poor argument has as many holes in it as Swiss cheese. Words, true or otherwise might pierce the mind, but nothing can prepare for what pierces the body.

Bullet holes are also symbolic of some deep shit. Their blatant and sole intent is to put a hole in someone. To spill the lifeblood out of a fellow human might be the cruellest hole of all. When we think of all we can do to repair the holes we’ve made, there is little we can do after the hate decides to pull the trigger and fill others full of holes.

What I wonder is how the holes that have been put into people’s hearts today by gun violence and hatred could ever heal? Could we turn our minds to making things whole instead?

Advertisements

I(n) tune

This is the companion to my post The Groove for The Heart and Art of Teaching blog. I am writing it here in order to keep my blog posts reading times reigned in. It was originally occupying several paragraphs elsewhere, but was moved here to take on a life of its own.

I love music. I’m listening to it right now(Dave Matthews Band – Live in Rio). In my classroom, I sing, quote song lyrics, hum tunes, and offer students the chance to use music as a means to demonstrate they’re understandings of learning. I have an obscure record collection that includes speeches by Mussolini to  songs by Cookie Monster.

From the earliest moments I wanted to be a DJ on the radio. As a kid I was always pressing the presets on our car radio. I loved the idea that one person could curate the soundtrack for so many people. There were countless times I’d dial the local radio station to request a song. And for a very brief while, I believed that the performers were actually in the stations performing live.

It was the late 60s in Hudson’s Hope, BC. Most of our family welcomed the addition of my little sister. Not me, I was officially the middle child and it was time to occupy my time plotting against my siblings. Most days were spent outside playing in the dirt, wandering around the limits of our trailer park, and learning to cruise along, the lone stretch of driveway, on an over-sized trike.  Inside, our little black and white television warmed our temporary double-wide home with its futuristic glow. The Beatles were on Ed Sullivan. I was hooked.

Uprooted, moved, and transplanted over the border to New York state. This was followed by the revelation that Buffalo, NY is probably the snowiest equivalent location possible to the Peace River in British Columbia. What did I care? I didn’t have to shovel it.

The move brought with it a home, and some new gear. A colour TV now bathed our living room with light and entertainment. Ed Sullivan was still  hosting his “Really big Shoow!”, but not for long. The soundtrack was changing, evolving, and definitely becoming more interesting. My parents listened to the radio wherever and whenever they could.

Whether we were in the house, the yard, or in the car on the way to somewhere – music was there. You couldn’t help but sing along to the grooves and rhythms of Rock n’ roll, the twang of Country, the hooks of Pop music, or the heart and soul of R and B. In our space, no musical genre would be denied. Although, I think my dad had a limit on how much “hippie” music he could handle.  😉

In 1972 we moved again. This time, it was to Wyoming where cattle outnumbered people 2:1. It is still that way today. Once again a score to soothe the worried mind of a middle child filled my ears with Led Zeppelin, Marvin Gaye, Carole King, and Tammy Wynette. A new home, same TV, but only Ed Sullivan reruns to watch until we discovered Don Kirshner’s Rock Concert.

Queen, Bad Company, Van Morrison, and Linda Ronstadt had become household names. Everyday on my way to school I’d be humming one tune or another heard on KWYO AM or KROE FM( now talk radio), which played album sides and a greater selection of performers.

My parents loved music too, and had amassed quite a record collection of their own. To a young audiophile, it was a gold mine of sounds to accompany my musical education.  The album covers alone served as part of my daily reading regimen. When my brother became a wage earner, the collection grew even larger and wilder with his contributions of BTO, Guess Who, Styx, and Elton John.

Wherever I ambled, music made the journey better regardless of what was going on in the world around me. And there was plenty. I remember my first albums, Kiss Destroyer, and Peter Frampton Comes Alive. I nearly wore through that vinyl from playing it so often. Then another move in 1978.

Arriving to Toronto in the late 70s meant having my ears opened to a buffet of musical offerings. Bands like the Dire Straits, Pink Floyd, and Rush began to consume my adolescent times with guitar heavy riffs and intelligent lyrics. Radio became the means by which I got to know my new city.

As a grade 8 student at St. Gaspar Elementary School(closed 2002), I began slowly amassing a collection of vinyl records. Countless hours of my youth were spent listening to albums, reading liner notes, and getting to know about the artists/performers making the music I loved. No genre was excluded. If it was on vinyl I’d give it a spin. Music videos were just creeping into our sound consciousness with shows like the New Music.

The Tubes, Peter Tosh, The Police, and the Clash.

I remember studying the albums themselves and wondering how a diamond stylus needle that get’s dropped into a groove translates the contents into such glorious sounds; complete with crackles and pops. It was as if I was in the room when I could hear fingers sliding across the strings of a guitar or when stereo headphones made it feel like the sound was going right through my brain.

In short the soundtrack to my life to this point was accompanied by amazing music, lyrics, and performers who poured their talents out for the world to hear. I still remember skateboarding and listening to Sultans of Swing  cranked up on my portable transistor radio sans headphones.

Let’s call this the first side of the album…
I will flip it and press play on another post covering the early 80s to present next time.

If you like discussing music please comment and keep the conversation going.
Happy listening.

Header image by Mr.choppers (Own work) [CC BY-SA 3.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0) or GFDL (http://www.gnu.org/copyleft/fdl.html)%5D, via Wikimedia Commons