Author: Troy Headrick

Writer, educator, artist, thinker, traveler, adventurer

Forced Awakening

seeing-whats-there

I can’t believe I’m being dragged back into politics.  But that is exactly what’s happening.

In 2015 I quit visiting all the political websites that had held my interest for many years.  I stopped thinking about politics and discussing the topic with others.

2015 is also the year I left Egypt after living and working there for seven years.  During that time, I was very political, at least from 2008 to 2014.  In 2011, I witnessed the mass uprising against Hosni Mubarak and found myself swept away by the euphoria that followed his deposing.  Then, two years later, during the month of July, I watched in horror as Egypt’s first democratically elected president, Mohamed Morsi, was overthrown in a military coup.  Some very scary characters referred to it as a “second revolution,” but the more apt term was “counterrevolution.”

The counterrevolution crushed my spirit but not because I was a Morsi fan.  I was devastated because I had seen how hard brave Egyptians had fought to free themselves.  And I saw the sacrifices they’d made.  Suddenly, though, they were right back at square one or even worse.  The only way I could survive such devastation was to numb myself.  So, I withdrew from politics and became apathetic, which takes me back to the point I was making about myself in the second paragraph.

I had a bit of a revival when Bernie Sanders decided to run for president.  The old political juices began to flow again.  From the moment he declared his candidacy, I felt the Bern.  Eventually, he built an incredible following and I began to see a glass that was half full.  Egypt had certainly lost its way but America, it seemed, was on the verge of finding its soul.

Then the Democratic Party machine decided that Hillary Clinton was somehow owed the nomination.  Bernie was treated unfairly and his supporters were pushed aside.  Many of us warned that Clinton was too compromised and therefore vulnerable.  Too few listened to those warnings.  Too many people were too certain about what they thought was a foregone conclusion.  There were many ominous signs for those with the ability to see and read them.  With Bernie out of the race and everyone saying Clinton was a shoo-in, I began to lose interest again.

But I never drifted entirely away.  That weird sense of foreboding I felt wouldn’t let me turn completely off.  The mood of the nation reinforced the sense of dread I felt.  It seemed all too possible that something catastrophic might happen.  And it did on November 8, 2016, a date that go down in infamy.

Now that the world as we’ve known it is in the process of vanishing, the old jump-up-on-a-soapbox Troy has reawakened.

I grew up during a period when Americans smugly believed that the nation and its people were somehow special—or exceptional.  They watched as other countries fell apart or came under the influence of evil powers but felt that such things could never happen in the greatest country the world had ever seen.  America would always remain the beacon.  It would always set the model for others to follow.

But just look where we find ourselves now.  Just look.  Look long and hard.  And while doing so, make sure not to turn your eyes away.  Don’t delude yourself into believing that what you see isn’t as bad as many are suggesting.

The truth is, it’s every bit as bad as people are saying.  We cannot know for sure how bad it may get, but it is already way beyond horrific.

Had I Been Born a Cat

I’d be a lot more relaxed than I am right now had I been born a cat.  That’s because I’d know, right in the back of my feline mind, that I had been given nine lives, which is a lot of time to work with and provides for a large margin of error.

Human beings, unlike cats, are given only one life, and it’s a fairly short one.  To make matters worse, a lot of that one lifetime is either spent asleep or doing things like sitting in a cubicle at work.

I’m writing all this because I am cursed with a strange affliction.  From just about the moment I was born, I have had too many interests and passions.  I am a very creative person with lots of different talents, all of which I’d love to equally pursue.  But I can’t because of the whole lack of time thing.

I’ve had to neglect this blog, and I’m so upset about it.  It’s not that I haven’t been writing.  I have been.  In fact, I’m about sixty percent done with a novella that should end up being about hundred pages long.  It’s a dark book which suits my current mood.  (There’s a backstory there that I won’t get into right now.)  The thing falls within the genre of psychological thriller with elements of the horror story.  My working title is The Red Room.

I’ve also been doing a lot of digital art.  In fact, on the art front, there has been an interesting development.  About a week ago, I got an email from someone representing Vida.com, an interesting company that works with artists and designers to produce fashionable, high-end clothing and accessories.  The person reaching out had seen my work and wanted me to send them some of my images.

So I will send some.  And I will continue to work on my novella when I can fit it in.  And I will continue to make art, mostly late at night when the opportunity presents itself.  Oh, and by the way, I hope to be a more regular blogger too.

I’ll finish by sharing a few pieces of my newest digital artwork.

Are You Looking for a Tutor or Academic Success Coach in San Antonio, Texas?

me-in-library
Me, Troy Headrick, Your Tutor and Academic Success Coach

Having Trouble in School?  Hire Me!

When you make an appointment with me, you’re not getting just a tutor; you’re getting a veteran educator and academic success coach.

I have spent most of my professional life in classrooms, doing everything within my power to help students succeed.  I have taught at community colleges, universities, teacher-training schools, and language institutes both in the US and abroad.  One of my strengths as a teacher—and I pride myself on this—is working individually with pupils to help them optimize their performance.

During my many years of experience as a teacher and tutor, I have developed a sophisticated educational philosophy.  A key component is that I see learners as “whole people,” meaning I take a very holistic approach when working with them.  If a student is struggling with school work, it might not necessarily be the subject matter itself that is holding him or her back.  In fact, there are a lot of possible contributing factors, including, but not limited to, the following:

  • Not understanding assignments or “what the teacher wants”
  • Not being able to manage time wisely
  • Not understanding how to break large tasks down into doable chunks
  • Not understanding the importance of “process” when doing assignments

In conclusion, if you choose to work with me, I guarantee not only success but an improvement in your attitude about school and learning.

*Students or parents who want to see my full CV should simple request one by sending an email to troyheadrick@gmail.com.

Check out My Education–See, I Was a Student Too

  • BA (cum laude) in Political Science (Angelo State University, San Angelo, TX)
  • MA in English (Texas A&M University, College Station, TX)
  • PhD studies in English (Texas A&M University, College Station, TX)

Things I Can Help You With

  • Community College and University Subject Areas
    • Academic success
    • Academic writing
    • Creative writing
    • Critical and analytical reading
    • English
    • ESL
    • Essay writing
    • Film analysis
    • Literature or textual analysis
    • Research methodology
    • Research writing
  • High School Subject Areas
    • Academic success
    • Academic writing
    • College Prep
    • Creative writing
    • Critical and analytical reading
    • English
    • ESL
    • Essay writing
    • Film analysis
    • Literature or text analysis
    • Research methodology
    • Research writing

Get in Touch!

A Little More about Me (If You’re Interested)

I am married to a wonderful Egyptian woman, someone I met while I was living in Cairo and teaching in the Department of Rhetoric and Composition at The American University in Cairo. I am a very international person and consider myself a “citizen of the world” even though I currently live in San Antonio, which, by the way, is my birthplace.  I was a Peace Corps Volunteer, in Poland, in the mid-90s, an accomplishment I am very proud of. I have also lived and worked in the United Arab Emirates and Turkey. I have traveled extensively, especially in Europe. I am a published writer and ex-professional artist. I enjoy exercising and doing all sorts of fun things with Azza, my wife and best friend.

What about Money and Getting Started?

I charge $35 per hour.  There are many things I can help you with that may not take a full sixty minutes.  If that’s the case, I’ll charge you only for that portion of the hour we use.

Now, if you’re interested, send me an introductory email at troyheadrick@gmail.com and we’ll go from there.

Picasso, Almost

Sigh.  I probably missed my calling.  I say “probably” because no one can ever predict how things would have actually turned out had I taken a different route.

My father was and is an artist, and I was born with artistic talent.  As a result, I started doing drawings and paintings as a child, and I even showed work at small art fairs when I was just a youngster.

I studied something other than the fine arts, though, when I went to university.  I continued to make artwork during my free time while I took classes in the humanities and liberal arts.

About a decade or so ago, I got this crazy idea that I would become a professional artist.  Actually, the idea was sane enough for me to successfully place a lot of work in galleries in the US and abroad.  I sold quite a few pieces and then had to scale back because it was too difficult to manage an art career when I was so transient and living is such far-flung places.  (For about the past twenty years I’ve been an expatriated American and have only recently returned to my home country.)

Today, like so many others, I’ve become obsessed with the internet and all things cyber.  As a result, I’ve become more and more a digital artist.  Now, when I make I pictures, they are, by in large, computer-generated.

I have developed a pretty cool method for making these pieces.  The works are the result of a complex creative process.  Many of them start out simply enough, as digital drawings, paintings, or photographs, but then they morph into something that’s hybrid, bold, and totally funky.

I’ve included a small sampling to give you an idea of what I’m talking about.  If you’d like to see more, go here.

Big Brother, Big Fan

BB18

Confession time.  Every year, when summertime rolls around, I look forward to watching Big Brother on CBS.

This year, I’m liking Frank Eudy because he’s a great mix of brains and brawn.  I also like him because he bears an uncanny resemblance, in many respects, including his unruly hair, to Dwayne, my best buddy in high school.

Frank
Frank

I certainly was not surprised to see Frank return this season.  Four years ago, on Big Brother 14, Frank made his BB debut and was eventually evicted about halfway through the game.  Before being kicked out of the house, however, he saved himself a million times by winning competitions, at critical moments, and then taking himself off the block.  This summer, like that summer, Frank is proving to be extremely formidable.

I also like James Huling who is nothing like Frank.  In fact, I would call them polar opposites.  James doesn’t seem to take himself or the game seriously; whereas, Frank is all about strategizing.  James just sort of goes with the flow and is a practical joker extraordinaire.  Frank, on the other hand, appears to want to control things—how others perceive him and the order that people exit the house.  When James eventually gets evicted, it will be because he was too careless and made a mistake.  When Frank departs, it will be because others realize that he’s playing the game perfectly and therefore has become the sort of threat that must immediately be removed.

James
James

Corey Brooks is turning out to be my least favorite player.  My poor opinion of him began when I observed him defending one of Donald Trump’s political talking points on a live feed.  He went on and on about how a wall has to be built on America’s southern border to keep “those people” out of the country.  When Jozea Flores—a self-described “celebrity makeup artist” and the second houseguest evicted—asked him who should pay for such a barrier, Corey very quickly said, “Mexico, of course.”

Corey
Corey

I’m not terribly excited by any of the female players so far.  I sort of like Da’Vonne Rogers’ sense of humor and Natalie Negrotti’s feistiness.  But it’s still early.  A dominant woman might yet emerge.

By the way, photos and bios for the full cast can be found here, and if you want to keep up with how the game is going between televised episodes but don’t want to spend money to get the live feeds, I recommend that you regularly visit this site.

Hoot!

owlsI’ve always been a collector.  I can’t even remember when, precisely, this habit got started.  As a very young lad, I owned several hundred—it could have been as many as a thousand—stamps from many countries of the world that I would diligently paste into albums, using those little hinges that could be purchased in variety stores.

Over the years, you name it and I’ve obsessively acquired it.  I went through a period when I was interested in porcelain objects that had the worlds “Occupied Japan” stamped on their undersides.  I then got into refrigerator magnets and spent hours shopping for them on eBay.  I currently have a couple of dozen beautiful Middle Eastern rugs on the floor of my apartment.  I remember how much pleasure it gave me when I acquired each one.  Honestly, if I had an unlimited supply of greenbacks, I’d probably become something akin to a hoarder.  The feeling I get when I simply hold one these highly prized objects in my hands is hard to describe.

Having said all this, you probably will not be surprised to hear that I have been buying owl figurines—made of every sort of material that can be used to manufacture such a creature—for a great many years.  In fact, my collection is so extensive that I don’t even have all of them in my possession.  Many are stored away in boxes in closets inside houses that belong to a great many relatives.

My interest in owls began as a result of an interesting encounter I had, now a couple of decades or so back, with a real live bird of this sort.  This “meeting” (of the souls?) happened while I was visiting my maternal grandparents who happened to reside, at that time in their lives, out in the country, a dozen or so miles to the west of a little Texas city called San Angelo.

Just after breakfast, on the second day of a four-day visit, I announced that I wanted to take a walk, so I bundled up—it was a cold, wintry day as I recall—and then left the house.  I wandered for an hour or so.  My walkabout took me down forsaken country roads that meandered here and there and then petered out, becoming little more than footpaths in the process.  I breathed the crisp country air in and exhaled clouds of steam.  I looked up, studied the sky, and wondered if it might sleet or even snow.

During such a moment of speculation, a voice in my head said, “Turn around now and have a look at what’s behind you.”  When I did so, I saw an enormous bird—I didn’t yet know that it was an owl—perched on the limb of a dead tree, not more than ten feet away.  The creature had its back to me, and it stayed like that for several seconds as my eyes fixated on it.  Suddenly, its head swiveled around and I saw two large and seemingly inquisitive owl eyes peering at me.  The two of us held perfectly still like that, staring at one another, for what seemed like a long time.  The bird abruptly blinked, maybe three times, let out a preternatural hoot, and then flew away.

About ten days later, while wandering around in a junk shop, I bought my first owl.  Before deciding to make the purchase, I held the thing in my hands a good long time, checking it out for imperfections.  I found none and the price was right.  The rest, as they say, is history.

 

 

 

 

Our Saturdays and Sundays

estate liquidation

When Azza and I moved from Cairo, Egypt, to San Antonio, Texas, USA, we didn’t bring a lot with us.  Actually, I take that back.  We transported a hellacious load of boxes, via a cargo container that was loaded into ship that had dropped anchor in the Mediterranean city of Alexandria, but that lot didn’t include much furniture.  So, when we set up house in SA, we lived a Spartan existence for a while.

We did not despair about our lack of furnishings.  Instead, for months now, on weekends, beginning early every Saturday morning, we rise and shine to make the rounds at garage sales, yard sales, parking lot sales, estate sales, and any other kind of retail enterprise, large or small, where folks hawk previously owned goods at affordable prices.  We learn about these buying opportunities via the World Wide Web, on this site and this one.  We also locate them by sheer accident as we drive around and through the sprawling metropolis that is San Antonio.

I have to admit that this sort of shopping beats the hell out of a visit to IKEA or some such place.  I am particularly fond of estate sales even though I always feel a little sinful—that might not be exactly the right word, but it’s close—while picking up and handling a family’s once-cherished possessions.  Poking my nose into their bedrooms, bathrooms, living rooms, dining room, kitchens, and private crawl spaces invariably leaves me feeling a bit like an impertinent ogler.  For example, if I walk into a home where the owner had an obsession for footwear—there are plenty of houses that are simply stuffed to the rafters with an obscenely large number of pairs of women’s shoes—I always feel like I’ve discovered a family secret that the inhabitants would have preferred not to have become common knowledge.

shoes

Estate sale shopping is always a little sad, too.  I invariably run across wheelchairs, walkers, and packets of unopened adult diapers, the tell-tale signs of deterioration and demise.  I often find that my eyes fixate on these items as my mind tries to conjure an image of the person (or persons) who used them.  I then turn away and wander into a new room, one where the walls are decorated by dusty black-and-white photos of people I’ll never know and who are probably long gone and forgotten.

Not long ago, while the two of us were walking down the hallway of a particularly large house that was simply bursting at the seams with stuff, Azza stopped me dead in my tracks by grabbing my arm.  “Troy, promise me one thing,” she said with a troubled look on her face.

“What’s that?” I asked her.

“When we die, you’ll never let anyone open up our house in this way.”

“OK,” I said.

She then let my arm go and we continued moving from room to room, picking up a few purchases as we went along.

I’m Pretty Sure I’ve Been Here Before

Life takes some incredible twists and turns.  About a million years ago, I was born in San Antonio, Texas, a city that’s a little bit America and a little bit Mexico, and then, back when I was still pooping in diapers, mom and dad carried me off to Garland, a suburb of Dallas.  Over the decades, I have had one or two opportunities to return to my birthplace, but only as a tourist and only for very brief visits.  Mostly, I’ve been estranged from the locale that could rightfully be called my hometown.

Then, in the latter days of September of 2015, a few months after I’d left my post at The American University in Cairo, a very sudden job offer in San Antonio came my way while Azza—my Egyptian wife of five years and new America émigré—and I were camped out with family, in their guest bedroom, in another part of the Lone Star State.  Of course, I signed on the dotted line, right where my new employer told me to.  We then loaded up, headed to south Texas, down where the beautiful language of Spanish is ubiquitously spoken, and set up house.

All these years later, I am back in San Antonio, the place where I (literally) got my start.  From time to time, when I’m tooling around the city, I get this weird déjà vu feeling.  As a matter of fact, this past weekend, Azza and I went to the San Antonio zoo, and while standing in front of the flamingo cage, I had this odd sensation that I had stood in this exact spot before.  The bird scene before me seemed bizarrely familiar.  I lifted my camera, took a few photos of the pink, hook-nosed birds, while goosebumps rose on my arms.

flamingo

We spent three hours among the animals and enjoyed our time more than I can accurately articulate here.  I’ve always been a nut for creatures—this nuttiness was especially acute when I was a tyke—and I felt that old delight resurface as we moved from cage to cage.  For some reason, on this particular outing, I especially liked the fish in their various watery enclosures.  They swam past us, flashing a zillion neon colors as they went.  In fact, I was so captivated by them it took me a while to actually notice that in one particularly large aquarium there were two hippos, their grotesquely large bodies magnified by the water, floating among those finned and gilled darters.

I’ve included a few photos here and am upset with myself that I didn’t get a good shot of the gibbons as they swung through the treetops, picked insects off on another, and otherwise reminded me of how humanlike they are.  While watching them do their monkey business, I got so enthralled—my mouth was probably agape—that I simply forgot to lift my camera and click the shutter.

 

 

 

 

I’m the Boss (and So Is Bernie)

I want to start by saying something that should be obvious to everyone:  I’m the boss of this blog.

Oddly enough, even though I’m the owner and CEO of Thinker Boy, Inc., it wasn’t entirely obvious to me, though.  My most recent posts, all of them personal reflections on my profession—I’m a teacher—had started to feel stale and I was growing bored while writing them.  Still, I hadn’t turned away from the topic because I had promised to complete the project.  Guess what?  I’m going back on my word.  I’m discontinuing the series of blogs I’d been calling “The Accidental Teacher.”

I blog a lot like I travel.  When I go somewhere as a tourist, I never make a plan before arriving at my destination, nor do I carry a guidebook.  I like to arrive in a state of naiveté, which assures that I’m going to be surprised as I roam around.  When traveling like this, I wander upon an interesting spot, one I’d never expected to find in the first place, and stop to look for a while.  When the time feels right, I turn my back and walk away.

I’m using this analogy to tell you that I’ve been looking at the topics of “education” and “my life as an educator” long enough.  I’m now ready to stroll away from them and make new discoveries.  I guess I could be a more focused writer if I were a more focused person.  Part of the reason I’m unfocused is that I have so many interests.  I’m all over the place and so is my blog.

One of my interests is American politics.  Lately, I’ve been obsessed with the competition between Bernie Sanders and Hillary Clinton.  (FYI:  The Republicans only interest me to the extent that their current crop of candidates are capable of disturbing my sleep by giving me nightmares.  One of them in particular—I think you know which one I’m talking about—seems hellbent on causing the whole sane world to have really bad dreams.)

I’m a Sanders guy and I FEEL THE BERN every day of my life.  If you want to follow my thoughts on the contest, go to my Twitter page and have a look.

My Egyptian wife and I live in San Antonio, Texas, and we are very active people.  While moving around and through Texas’ second largest city, we see many streets with houses that have Bernie Sanders signs in their front yards.  To date, I have not seen a single Hillary Clinton sign even though she won the Texas primary a while back.  Who are these Clinton supporters and where are they?  They sure seem like a shy bunch, at least in these parts.

In an attempt to get to the bottom of what motivates HRC supporters, Camille Paglia has written an interesting piece with a very provocative title—“Enough with the Hillary Cult:  Her admirers Ignore Reality, Dream of Worshiping a Queen.”  I wholeheartedly recommend that you read it.

Sanders is constantly calling for a revolution in America.  By this, he means we need to revolutionize our thinking.  Sanders, of course, would never ask others to do something that he hasn’t already done himself.  If you want to see what he means by this sort of thinking, watch the video below—it’s the speech he gave at the Vatican—and you will certainly see a politician who has embraced the sort of progressive ideas that many would find revolutionary.

When was the last time you heard a candidate for president talk about the weak and downtrodden and argue that America’s profits-before-people economic system is “immoral” and even “unsustainable?”  If you can’t hear the voice of saint—or a jewel of a politician—when Sanders speaks, you need to get your ears checked.  You might want to check your ticker too—to make sure you haven’t become heartless.

We in the 99% are those who Sanders is looking out for and talked about in Rome.  By running for president, he’s throwing us a lifeline and we need to be smart enough to grab it.  If we don’t, we may find ourselves sinking to the bottom of the deep, blue sea.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Accidental Teacher: An Essay and Memoir (Part 9)

I have had a pretty unique job during most of my adult life.  I have been a teacher—for what seems like forever now—but I’ve never really been the sort who wanted my students to become more knowledgeable, which I associate with acquiring information.  Instead, I have tried to help them hone skills that promote wisdom or shrewdness.  In other words, I haven’t focused on what they should know but on how they should know.  “How” one knows is often referred to as thinking.

Most people believe that thinking comes naturally to everyone because we’re all born with brains.  It’s true we’re born with this organ, but there is a world of difference between run-of-the-mill thinking and critical thinking (or good thinking), just as there is a world of difference between the sounds made when my untrained fingers hit the keys of a piano and the music produced by a world-class concert pianist when his or her fingers touch the ivory.

There are a million things which interfere with good thinking.  At the moment, I don’t have time to get into all these factors.  The old saying, “The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree,” explains one of the most important influences on our intellectual development.  Most grow up thinking in the same way their parents did and thus believing in the same things too.  Our parents are our first models and their influence leaves a deep imprint.  To be able to “fall far from the tree” requires that we have to, at some point, question our parents’ way of seeing the world and this takes great courage.  In fact, there is no activity in life that requires more bravery than to think critically because to do so one must sometimes say “no” when important others (or maybe even the whole community or world) is saying “yes.”  Saying no when others are saying yes can be costly or even dangerous.  It’s certainly easier (and more comfortable) to just go with the flow.

I’m thinking a lot about thinking these days because that’s what I do.  Plus, it is campaign season in America and that means the news is full of stories about powerful and ambitious people putting their thinking on display in an attempt to get others to vote for them.  In the interest of full disclosure, I’ll just go ahead and tell you that politicians with the most progressive points of view generally tend to think a lot better—I’m not talking about their ideas, which I also find attractive, but about the methods they use to formulate their ideas and then state them to the public—than do conservatives.  Political conservatives—I actually like to call them “regressives”—make a lot of very classical thinking mistakes that many others might not catch because they aren’t trained to look for them the way I am.  In fact, regressive politicians often make arguments that simply leave me shaking my head.  The fact that so many Americans find such unskilled thinking attractive often makes me despair about the future of the country.

At this point I should probably tell you that I made myself a promise several years ago.  I promised to do whatever was necessary to become the best thinker I could possibly become even if this meant that I would ultimately have to embrace very unpopular ideas.  In my attempt to constantly improve myself intellectually, I often find myself butting heads with what is called “conventional wisdom,” which is mostly a first-rate oxymoron.

I want to conclude by reiterating something I said in a previous blog.  Critical thinking is a way of being.  It is a method of living life with great integrity.  It is not something I turn on and off at will.  It has become the way I conduct myself in this world.