My name is Jodi Lea Pflaumer. My surname shows that my ancestors came from Germany. My middle name is after my father who is Jerry Lee. Regardless, I’m rarely called Jodi Lea Pflaumer.
My students call me “Ms. Pflaumer”. Honestly, they more often call me “Mrs. Pflaumer”. To them, the Ms. and Mrs. are interchangeable. They just show I’m female. I’ve never once been called Mr. Pflaumer. However, I have been called Mom and Grandma. Why? When kids spend a good portion of their waking hours with you 180 days a year, they can accidentally call you by the name of the lady who cares for them the rest of the time. It’s all good.
At church, I’m called “Miss Jodi”. It teaches the kids to show respect to elders while allowing a more personal or intimate connection. Plus, it keeps me from going into “teacher mode”.
A friend in college, actually it was the friend I mentioned in my previous post, always called me “Lea”. I always thought it was just his nickname for me, but one day I asked if he knew my last name. He told me he thought my name was “Jodi Lea”, which was why he had always called me “Lea”. Hmmm, two perspectives. To this day, he’s the only friend to call me “Lea”, so it always makes me ponder my years in East Tennessee.
Another college friends referred to me as JOdI LEA PflAUmer, making all vowels but the last as long vowels. It would make me chuckle, and I have no doubt if I ever take a trip to Atlanta and I hear that being said…I will know exactly who was coming.
Names. Why have I been pondering names? Well, it seems that the current protests for Black Lives Matter and for fair treatment has stirred the pot of discord regarding the school where I teach. I teach at Southwestern Elementary. I have for 24 years. I am proud of my school, and to me the “mascot” simply was a reminder to “stand up” and not to be afraid to go against the flow. Why? We are the Southwestern Rebels.
There’s currently a group of residents in our county and elsewhere who have deemed Rebels an exclusive term referring only to the Confederacy and all the ideals they believed in. Yuck! Who would want that as their mascot IF that was what it was referring to? To be honest, if I believed that we were the Southwestern Confederate Rebels, then I never would have applied to teach here. But that’s NOT what we are or who we are.
If you go back to the school’s history, instead of the country’s history, you would learn that the name Rebels was selected because the group that started the school was being a rebel by not joining with the other schools in the county. They decided to stand up for what they believed and make their own school system. They rebelled. They went against what others believed.
Please understand me, the Confederate Rebels and I have nothing at all in common. But…I am a rebel.
You see, society says that high school students tend to try “new habits” that I have never tried. I rebelled against the expectation.
I was told that education majors in college really are just at school for their MRS degree. Nope. I wanted to make a difference. I wanted to learn who I was in order to be who I was created to be. I rebelled against the stereotype.
Sadly, in the times we live in, it’s normal to be silent about your faith if you are a Christian, but….nope. My friends, my family, my students, and the social media world know that I am a Christian. I rebel against being a silent Christian.
Personally, I think being a lawful respectful rebel is a good thing. I tell my students if they disagree with something I planned or do in class that they can respectfully state their case. I can’t guarantee the stand will change the plans or practice, but it’s worth a shot. I teach them to stand up and be heard. I have read posts by friends who only focus on the negative definition of rebel. Yet, I teach my students multiple meaning words every year. Some words have both positive and negative meanings. We are not the Confederate Rebels; we are the Southwestern Rebels.
As I do often when reading social media, I googled this question. “Is Rebel a negative word?” The response: “Being a rebel or being branded as a rebel does not always warrant negative inferences. Strong willed people who are indisposed to comply with rules, standards, or laws are often branded rebels-just because they don’t fall in with a situation – often a prejudiced or unfair or unjust or discriminatory situation.”
Maybe I have a Pollyanna view of life, but that’s with what I’ve always associated our mascot. I will admit that in the midst of the heated and sometimes hateful/disrespectful debate I’ve read on Facebook that I cringe whenever a Confederate Soldier or Confederate flag appear. Please know, I’m all about learning from our history. I teach my kiddos history, both the positive and the ugly. We discuss how we’ve learned and can still learn and change. Yet, the visual of those two things don’t cause me any joy. But, I admit, the little old guy with the beard, he just reminds me of a crotchety old man…angry old men are still around, but I don’t want that to be our mascot. That little man doesn’t look one bit joyful. Hmm, I need to refocus and forget about that little man.
One of my friends posted a survey on whether the school should change “Rebels”. I picked “no”. The money involved with the change is a big deterrent for me agreeing when we’re hard-pressed to be able to fund teacher’s salary and various student activities. It seems like a lot of money for “rebranding”. I became curious as to whether this was only occurring here or everywhere. From what I garnered from a quick search, it seems Old Miss and UNLV as well as high schools throughout the nation have faced the same debate. In most (if not all) cases, the “old man mascot” was given the boot. Some replaced him with a bear or dog, but the name remained.
What will happen? I know not. Names are powerful. Words…are what you make them.
Yet, this morning as I was once again overwhelmed by the FB posts on this subject, I tried to think of words that get me “worked up”.
The first that came to mind was the N word. That to me is more foul than any curse word. When I hear it, it makes my heart sad. Many moons ago or possibly decades, I had a student who said the word in passing. Our lesson was quickly interrupted and a history lesson and a lesson on respecting others took over. To be honest, the only way this 8-year-old would be able to use the word so haphazardly was if he heard it frequently. I always wondered what he told his parents happened in school that day. Did he tell them that I corrected him and taught the class how inappropriate it was? Did his parents see me as a self-righteous teacher? Or….did they realize that their habit hurts others?
Then, I was reminded of a word that hurts me personally. It hurts my spirit and makes my heart cry. It is a name that my entire being is grounded in and my world revolves around. It’s the name of my Creator. My Savior. God.
Just saying the name prompts a feeling of admiration and adoration to my being. Yet, I remember back during my masters program having to endure a professor who used it as often as others say “um” as he taught us. Each time he uttered the word, my entire being wanted to scream. However, you can tell by a person’s speech and attitude whether a dialogue can take place, and it was evident that this professor’s self-identify would not take well to a student offering constructive criticism. So, each week of his course….I would become irritated, which prompted anger, which prompted prayer. Sometimes for him. Often times for my attitude check. At the conclusion of each course in my graduate program, associated with an evangelical Protestant university, the university had us complete an evaluation. To be honest, I would rank this professor as second in most effective, but I respectfully shared how his habit, which had no intent on hurting others, affected me. I’d like to say our evaluations (I wasn’t the only one who shared it.) helped him to alter his habit, and perhaps it did. Yet, I do know that it colored his view of our co-hort. Our advising professor told us in one of the courses she taught, “I don’t know what happened in Dr. X’s class, but he does not hold a positive regard for your group. He said nothing positive about the course just that you were ‘whiny’.” Ah, we whined when we reported his offensive habit. Lesson learned. Sometimes, people don’t understand your problem with something. You shake it off and move on.
Why did I share that? I keep asking myself….is calling ourselves Rebel like speaking God’s name without reverence? Does it cause stomach-punching emotional pain to those who hear it? I don’t know.
As I wrapped up my ponderings and prepared to put my thoughts into word format…I again read posts from friends. I have friends on both sides of the debate. These are people I respect. The perspective of both sides deserves attention, and then let the decree be made. Regardless of how this current debate plays out….whether we remain the Southwestern Rebels, change to the Southwestern Survivors, revert to the Southwestern Bulldogs, I will always be a rebel. A person who does what I think is right even when the world doesn’t agree.
Actually, there always is a lot going on, but media coverage puts the protests so consistently in our view and thoughts. I’ve seen many posts on FB and thought, “You should write something. But what?”
The pandemic saddens me because it claims lives and as of today there’s no vaccine. The protests break my heart. Not because they’re taking place, but because they’re needed. There’s no vaccine that can “fix” the issue. This problem or disease must be fixed by policy change, government change, and…to be honest….a heart change in all of us.
Some judge a person by their weight. However, when compared to what black people experience, it’s nothing. People may not like me because of my faith or my weight, but they don’t fear me. They don’t treat me like I’m unequal. So, I obviously have no idea what a black person, especially a black adult male faces in our current situation. I’ve never had someone lock their door or hold their purse tightly to their body just because I walked by. How does that feel? I cannot fathom.
When I graduated from college, Joe sent me roses. NFL players can do things like that. It touched my heart, but my heart was saddened by the reaction of some when they saw the card. Why? It simply said, “Congratulations! Love, Joe”. You see, I saw my friend congratulating me on finishing my degree and letting me know that even though time and distance separated us that we were still friends. Yet, others read it and simply saw his skin color. I said nothing, but my heart cried.
I decided that next fall….I wanted a “fresh” look in my classroom. So, I’m ditching my Peanuts decor (giving them to a colleague who’s also a Peanuts fan) for something new. I’m going through ALL my stuff (I’m not a fan of that word, but it works in this case). Think of it as “spring cleaning” my classroom…
announce that I’ve been blessed by God for 50 years. During school, I told my kiddos “I turn a half a century old this summer”, and they had to figure out what that meant. One said, “500?” Nope….not going to happen.
schools, and in so many classes. I was reaffirmed to NOT be called to kindergarten (God bless those teachers!). As my subbing continued (for four LONG years), I realized that 3rd & 4th grades were the two I enjoyed the most. Finally, in August of 1996, five wonderful 3rd grade teachers and the others on the interview committee chose me to be the sixth third grade classroom. I’ve been in 3rd grade ever since.
to asking to move, but I talked myself out of it. Then, due to a couple teacher-moves by the administration, there was another opening in 4th grade. Again, the thoughts filled my brain, and then they once again started invading my dreams.
I shared my interest & willingness to change teaching assignments and waited…..and waited….and waited.
I’ve also seen the tears of the child that was “caught” doing something they weren’t supposed to do. I’ve seen the tears as well of the child who riddled with guilt comes to confess his wrongdoing and ask for forgiveness. Regardless of the reason, their tears dried.
year. One of them had her older son in my classroom previously. While older brother was my third grader, he suddenly “clicked” into a desire to read. Younger brother never did develop that desire. Mom was saddened and worried. [FYI my nephew who is very bright and a mechanical engineering student at WKU has also never developed that connection to reading….for some….it’s just not their thing…at least not yet.] The other mother and I are friends outside of the school building, and I’ve had the joy of seeing her son develop, finish his degree, and find his post-college job. In both situations, their tears dried….and smiles of gladness were found.
my parents and sisters, I remember countless times when we would tease our mom for crying during movies. Alas, those decisions come back and bite me. Why? Well, in this time of “stay home-stay healthy”, I’ve watched more movies than usual. At least five of them SO FAR have triggered my eye ducts to leak. Each time the waterfall starts, I think back to those times we chuckled at Mom. Sorry Mom….I guess it’s part of our wiring.
What about vegetable soup? Have you ever cried over soup? Me neither….until Wednesday….when Steve & Robin brought me soup & biscuits from Bob Evan’s just to show appreciation and care. There they went….dripping down my cheeks.
I MISS being with others during worship. I’m so thankful that we have the ability to worship together while they’re at church leading praises and preaching the Word. Yet, I thoroughly miss being in the physical presence of my church family.
school. We literally talked for 30 minutes. She was her same happy chatty self. As I hung up, I cried realizing how much I miss seeing my kiddos in person. Then, a few days later when I commented on a purple mask her mom had posted on Facebook, I said, “I love the purple one, but I already have 2.” She quickly replied that her daughter said that I would like that mask when she saw it. Then, she told me how her daughter’s disposition changed back to “normal” after our 30-minute talk. You see, her daughter loves school, and she’s really having a hard time with not being there with me and her friends. Tears fell….again.
tears or sad tears. Whether they’re confused tears or thankful tears. Tears….are part of life.
As I drove up to my church to get materials to teach a SS lesson online, I realized that I spent more time pondering the longevity of my toilet paper supply than I ever have. Generally, when I start my final roll, I simply stop at Dollar General on my way home & pick up a new package. Based on FB, finding it isn’t that easy anymore. I decided when I have three left, then I’d start looking for a package to purchase. When that time arrives, I suppose I’ll make that “Who has TP for sale?” post on Facebook.
friends had shared some of my parodies. Yesterday, I sang one as “Axel Ramone”. Why? To make people laugh. To make a heavy news day seem a little lighter. Anyway, one of my friends had a comment on her post from one of her friends. He wrote, “Not much of a vocal talent.” Apparently, he thought I was trying to impress people with my singing rather than make them laugh a bit.
I’m not trying to impress you with my vocal skills. I’m trying to help us laugh in the midst of scary news. I’m trying to help us smile when it’s really easy to let tears fall.
I absolutely loved the time I spent in East Tennessee while I was attending college. Big fan of the area! When I returned to the Ohio River Valley, something strange occurred. Allergies were discovered.
Finally, my doctor said, “Jodi, we can keep treating your symptoms, or you can get tested to identify your allergies.” Allergy testing occurred. I remember when they were letting the pin pricks on my arm fester, a few red spots showed up, and I fought the urge to scratch (as directed). Then, they did the multiple rows on my back and again directed me not to scratch. OH. MY. GOODNESS! I was wiggling and attempting to stretch and twist my back to alleviate the itch. The allergist walked in and stated, “Yes, you have quite a few allergies.”
until it subsides. But….perspective changes everything.
grocery run for my parents to keep them at home. I wrote a parody of a song to fit our self-distancing mindset right now. I’ve chatted with my pastor about ideas of how our church can minister to children through technology while we can’t minister to them face-to-face. I’ve recorded four songs as one of my many personalities. I read several chapters of a book so that kids can hear oral reading while they’re stuck at home. I even washed some dishes.
I’m thankful for my zany voices invented years ago and how I can use them to lighten dark times. I’m thankful…..for a throbbing headache, watery eyes, feline-scaring sneezes, and a nasty-productive-cough. Perspective.
day my thoughts change. Today, I had my first episode of senseless tears. Seriously. I’ll explain later. So, let’s just say this past week has been a roller coaster. I try to keep on my rose-colored glasses, but according to the Enneagram survey….I’m a six. Okay, even my introductory paragraph is all over the place, so let’s try to regroup and refocus. I’m trying not to view this as a glass half full or half empty. At this point, I’m learning to be thankful I have a glass!
Around 3:20 pm on Friday, March 13, I learned that we would be out for three weeks, and that teaching staff would report to school for contract hours on April 1st and 2nd. Well, if that’s not the making of a Friday the 13th, I don’t know what is! I’m not sure how those contract days will go now that we’re not supposed to be in groups larger than 10….I’m sure they’ll figure something out.
“Don’t touch them, please.”
LOTS of those left from the party. Ha!] As I drove home, I guessed that it was our last time assembling together for worship for several weeks. Thankfully, the church is not a building but a body of believers. I look forward to our “new” method of worship this Sunday.
disgustingly-productive-allergy-cough.
One of my favorite quotes from Mr. Rogers is the one about looking for the helpers. I can’t do much to help fight Covid-19. I can’t test to see if you have the virus. I can’t create a vaccine to stop it or a medication to cure it. I can’t make it safe for my friend to visit her dad in the hospital or another friend to see her mom in the nursing 
home. I can’t make sure that my parents don’t get the virus from their trips to the grocery store (even though I try to get them not to go). I can’t put a bubble around my sister as she works in IT at the local hospital. I can’t make sure that no one brings the virus into my nephew’s apartment at school. There’s a lot I can’t do. So, when I couldn’t even give this local restaurant $10 for a dinner, I cried.
I prayed to the One who created me to give wisdom to those working to create vaccines and medications. I prayed to the One who pushed back the waters of the Red Sea to push back the waves of this pandemic. I prayed to the Prince of Peace to give me and other believers a peace that surpasses understanding in the midst of the chaotic, so we can minister to those who don’t know Him. I prayed for Him to allow me to be able to bring a bit of joy and humor into the sorrow and dreariness of this current path. I prayed to be a helper.
or praying….I can help.
to promote my books to hotel managers, waitresses, and cashiers….especially my mom. However, this past week, I started realizing that my students may be shooting to take the title. Why? I’m glad you asked.
As I taught my class, I shared the “big news” with my students. One of my students replied, “Miss Pflaumer, you’re like world famous.” Aww, aren’t they the sweetest!
figure out the mechanics of recording and uploading. Then? I’ll see where my student’s idea takes me…and my voices.
The One who created me in His image. The One who knitted me together in my mother’s womb. The One who sent His Son to pay a debt I c
this proverb we learned as children is 100% wrong. I’ve been told that when bones break they grow back stronger when fully healed. My heart still hurts from words said to me in high school and college. Words have power that last. Use yours wisely.
or written letters. I honestly can’t remember someone vocalizing toxic words about my class or teaching to me. Yet, it doesn’t matter whether it’s audible or written, the words remain. Be careful with yours.
others. Not to wait until it’s more convenient, but to speak it as soon as we think it. This was especially stressed due to the death of two young people in our community the afternoon prior. Don’t let people you love leave without telling them you love them. Let your students know that whether it’s a good day or a bad day that they are loved and important. Take the time to tell family, friends, and strangers that they are appreciated. I suggested that you can also say it through written words. You see, I still have notes from parents whose child is in high school or middle school which I reread at the beginning & end of each school year. On those hard and trying days, I can reread a letter from a methods students and student teachers who shared how I had impacted their lives and careers. Take the time to say it or write it.
Groeschel challenged one of the men he counselled. He asked him to list 100 reasons he had to keep living (as the man had been struggling with depression). When the man struggled, Pastor Groeschel said to name something he was good at or something positive about him. As I heard this part of the video, I thought to myself. Listing 10 would be a piece of cake. Coming up with 25 would take some thinking. Fifty would certainly require creativity or deep thought. One hundred? Wow! That would be a challenge for me, so I figured I’d give it a go….
This fall, my mom had some blood count and sugar count issues that took her to the ER and the ICU a time or two. As I sat down in a parking lot during Old Court Days attempting to sell children’s books, I learned that she was back in the ER. When Saturday’s hours concluded, I headed up to the hospital. When I arrived, Dad went home to take care of their dog and get some items. While he was gone, Mom and I talked about the unknown journey of diabetes and unidentified blood issues. It was obvious that there was a sense of unrest, so I stood next to her bed and prayed. I prayed for her, Dad, and the physicians. And…I prayed for a peace that surpasses understanding.
Jodi Lea Pflaumer, Author 