Miss Freud Returns To The Classroom: Toward A Psychoanalytic Literacy Among Educators by John Samuel Tieman I am a teacher. The other day, I mentioned to an educational consultant that many of my students were feeling anxiety about the state exams. “You’re a psychologist,” she said, “so give the kids pieces of candy, and just …
by John Samuel Tieman the words we didn’t say I take a bite of my lunch silence sour and salt This afternoon I sit on my porch, proud of all I’ve won, thinking of my poor days and how, at my age, the middle class doesn’t look as bad from the inside as it does …
By John Samuel Tieman It’s official — I am an American hero. Not long ago, an R. O. T. C. outfit wanted to make a display featuring local veterans. I can’t turn down fellow teachers – that and I just like these folks – so I gave them my photo and my medals, my “rack”, …
by John Samuel Tieman Did I ever tell you about the time I met Margaret Thatcher? Harold Wilson arranged for me to do an interview at 10 Downing Street. I was researching my master’s thesis in British history at Oxford in 1978. I really had no idea what to expect. Compared to the White House, …
by John Samuel Tieman Dear Ada, Years ago, when I was young, I taught school on the island of Dominica. One day, I read to the students Alan Dugan’s “Love Song: I And Thou”. Immediately after class, a student asked me to recite the ending of the poem for him — I can nail my …
by John Samuel Tieman I sometimes think I wasted a lot of years looking for inspiration, when all I needed to do was simply open my eyes. mother and suckling boy at the bus stop on Pine she notes the dawn and wonders what the day will bring besides milk and sleep and light I …
by John Samuel Tieman my oldest old pal pulls out a photo album ripples in a lake “He was 72. He lived a good, long life,” says a young colleague. I’m 62. I shudder. Folks have been on Death Row longer than 10 years. I’m not aging gracefully. I’d like to “rage against the dying …
by John Samuel Tieman lonelier I thought than a frozen ocean’s wharf a young widow’s moan Sometimes I love a good disaster story. The noble hero rescues the helpless. The survivor who, against all odds, comes away unscathed. The stoic victims remembered annually. Then sometimes it’s the Kursk. Capt. Lieut. Dmitri Kolesnikov wasn’t a hero. …