Not One to Impress

This past week I had my Qualifying Exam at USC. This is essentially a 15 page paper and an interview with a few faculty members. The Qualifying Exam is used  to weed out those who are finding the doctoral program isn't a good fit for them. At one point during my interview someone told me "Sometimes we send teachers to classrooms to see new things that are going on and when they come back they say 'Wow, that was amazing but I could never do that because she was just SO smart.' But with you it's different. People would never come away from your classroom feeling that way."

Questioning my intelligence, huh? In fairness she was referring to my tendency to make fun of myself at every turn. But still...

In that vein, here's a repost of a piece I wrote in 2010 poking fun at my lack of "braininess."

A few years ago I read this really wonderful book titled Other People's Words. In the book author and researcher Victoria Purcell-Gates spent two years working with an illiterate mother and her struggling son. Her goal was to come to better understand the cycle of illiteracy while helping this family to learn to read and write. Along the way she found that our society, as well as our educational system, often works to exclude the illerate. The parents of this child were unable to use public transportation, read labels on packages when shopping, or even help him with elementary school homework. Throw in the bulging sack of stereotypes this family, and especially their son, had to overcome at school and it was easy to see that the deck was stacked to all but ensure failure.

But this young boy was not alone. There were many, many more filling the seats of area classrooms. Together they comprised the group that consistently ranks lowest in terms of national education norms, have higher drop out and absence rates, and more commonly experience learning problems. Who are they? They are white, urban Appalachian children.

Over her two years Gates learned a lot. First, she learned that these families were not illiterate. Rather, they were low-literate. They relied heavily upon oral communication. Their heritage was rooted in oral stories and communication- to such a degree that print often had little use and and was of little importance. To help these children meant to first overcome cultural elitism and work to better understand the kids and their families.

One of the many things that Gates came to understand about these families was that while they struggled with print they were incredibly proficient in a variety of other areas. While their vast knowledge fell outside of what modern society seems to value most - being "book" smart or having a specialized area of expertise- they had learned the skills that were most valued within their culture; the skills that helped them to survive. For instance, they did not need to call a plumber to fix a leaky pipe, an electrician to install or repair wiring, or a mechanic to change the oil pan gasket. They were self-sufficient.

I thought of this recently when calling the Heating and Cooling guy out to check out our air conditioner. Tricia, the kids, and I had returned from our last trip of the summer to find that the second story AC was not working properly. Although air seemed to be coming out of the registers it definitely was not cold. The temperature on the thermostat rose and rose throughout the day. After topping out in the mid-eighties my mom took her PJs and fled for the comfort of the third floor while our friend, and housemate, Tim did the same, opting for the couch in the living room.

Being as close to immune to hot weather as two people can be, Tricia and I flipped on the overhead fan, threw open our bedroom windows, and found it rather comfortable. Still, despite having to dip into our savings,we were pleased to know that the AC guy would be showing up the next morning and that the unit would be fixed soon.

After a total of fourteen minutes spent looking at the thermostat, playing with the circuit breakers, and looking at the unit on the side of the house, he declared the air conditioner in good working condition again. As he made out the bill I asked him what the problem was. Keeping a straight face, which seems in retrospect that it must have been hard to do, he explained that there was a bad storm while we were gone and that one of the circuit breakers had tripped. As he handed me the bill I looked down and saw that I was preparing to pay in excess of $100 so that he could walk into the garage and flip a switch back to the "on" position.

I'd like to say this was my first time paying for a ridiculously easy fix. Heck, I'd like to say it was the first time I had paid someone to flip a circuit breaker back on. But it wasn't.

And I ask myself...should we, as a society, redefine smart?

Frozen by the Fear of Failure

I came across this question last week when Tricia and I were visiting studios in Asheville's River Arts District:

"What would you attempt to do if you knew you could not fail?"

I really like this. This question challenges you to consider what you'd like to do or to learn and then evaluate why exactly you're not already doing it. Going back to school.  Asking someone out on a date. Changing jobs. Speaking out against the crowd.

Who's willing to admit they're afraid of failure? Well, probably a lot of people.

When kids are really, really young they think they're good at everything. They're never afraid of failure because they see success in all they do. We, as adults, encourage this with our constant praise. Yet at some point children learn they are not so good as they thought. They receive their first few doses of criticism and then begin comparing themselves to others. Slowly they adopt the belief that things are fixed - they're either this or they're that. Of course, for many feeling as though they are good at something comes from being able to do it easily with little struggle. This is why Muluken has so much confidence in himself as a baseball player. He was good almost right away. The same is true with Ty and gymnastics, and Ainsley and Harper with reading On the flip side, there are things that each of them feel they are terrible at only because success doesn't come as quickly or as easily. But should that even be an expectation?

As we were walking through the studios I came across a small card one of the artists had put out on a table. It explained that when you pay for one piece of art you are really paying for the many, many others that did not come out so well. The failures. The notion that artists churn out piece after piece without failure is a misconception. A few years ago my class had a singer songwriter come in and speak with us about the process of writing a song. She explained that she had written well more than a hundred songs and from those only eleven or twelve actually made it onto her CD. Missteps and failures are to be expected. At least by those who are not crippled by them.

So, what would I attempt if I knew I could not fail? If I were assured of succeeding?

* I'd practice a lot more with my guitar. I long ago hit what I felt was a plateau and stopped trying to get any better. Over time I've actually grown worse.

* I'd sing more. There's a small range of notes I can sing. It's the many others that befuddle me.

* I'd write a book. Not a teacher one (I think I could already accomplish that if I had the time). No, I'd write one that tells a story. A dark story where the character you love most dies at the end.

* I'd build a detached garage outside our house all by myself.

* Maybe I'd start a summer foundation that takes kids into the woods to hike, swim, look at plants and animals. Oh, and throw rocks at distant trees.

* Be more willing to offer my opinion in certain situations.

I assume the point of the question is that anything you list is something you should, therefore, do. But, no pressure.

A Survival Guide to Slasher Films

DISCLAIMER: Before beginning this post, I'd like to point out that I do at times seek out quality programming. I enjoy documentaries on just about anything, Wes Anderson and John Sayles films, and watching Richard Wolff go to great lengths detailing the evils of capitalism on Link TV. Please, just keep this in mind.

A couple of months ago my friend Tim and I decided it might be fun to watch Friday the 13th. I should mention this is not the same Tim who writes such wonderfully reflective pieces on his blog about hope, kindness, and the human spirit. No, this is my other friend Tim who repeatedly buys liquor at the grocery store because he gets lured in by the pretty color only to remember, after taking one drink, he hates alcohol. I just thought I should make this distinction. In fairness to Tim O.

Anyway, what began as a joke soon turned into a scenario in which Tricia grabbed her blanket, stood up, and said "I'm going to bed!" It seems she does not find slasher movies funny. That's just as well because this meant neither Tim or I had to feel the least bit self-conscious for giggling endlessly or yelling at the screen "NO, DON'T GO CHECK THE CIRCUIT BREAKER!"

 After the first movie we decided we should really see the second. See, number two is the first movie featuring Jason. And then we had to see the third because this is the one where he gets the hockey mask. After that one we wanted to watch the fourth installment because not only was it 3D but it also had Corey Feldman. The only reason we watched number five was so we could get to number six which had an appearance by Horseshack from Welcome Back, Kotter. At this point we'd seen so many there was really nothing else we could do but commit ourselves to seeing the entire series.

So now we're up to Friday the 13th: Jason Takes Manhattan. Yeah, I know - but we're no quitters! Not too long from now we'll be watching one in which Jason travels into space to attack unsuspecting teens on a space station. Wait...how did teens get on a space station? And how will they go skinny dipping?

One thing you'll notice when watching these movies is that people in slasher movies are just stupid. I cannot imagine how they manage each time to single themselves off from the group to be killed. Or how they remain completely unaware that their friends are being picked off one-by-one all around them. But they do.

So, should you ever find yourself trapped inside a slasher movie I 'm going to offer you twenty suggestions to help survive.


20. Make sure your car's engine is in good working order and has plenty of gas.

19. Never say, "I'll be right back."

18. Don't walk around naked. On a related note, don't skinny dip alone.

17. Do not take drugs.

16. DEFINITELY do not have sex.

15. Do not show up in the credits as "Second Deputy" or "Hitchhiker".

14. Pay attention to news reports about psychopathic killers on the loose.

13. Do not be in a wheelchair.

12. Do not be overweight.

11. Never go check what that noise was.

10. Do not build houses on ancient burial grounds.

9. If you are being chased by the killer, never stop to rest against a wall, door, or window thinking you've escaped.

8. If you come across your prankster buddy who seems to be lying dead in a pool of his own blood he is just trying to fool you. However, when this happens a second time turn and run. You're about to get axed.

7. Don't get a bunch of your friends together to stay in a cabin at a lake where other groups of people have been brutally murdered each and every summer the past six years.

6. If you find a good hiding spot, for God's sakes...stay there!

5. ALWAYS finish the job when given the chance. Do not assume the killer is dead.

4. Absolutely do not try to lift off the mask of the seemingly dead killer.

3. Do not be named Tina. According to some sources, Tinas statistically die more often in slasher movies.

2. Be a cute, virginal girl who does not drink, smoke, or do drugs. It would help if you have some sort of sad backstory. However, it would not be wise to show up in the sequel. If you do chances are you'll be dead within the first ten minutes.

1. And the best way to survive a slasher movie: be the killer. Even if you die you'll be magically resurrected in the next film.

Time well spent, my friends. Time well spent.

Old Friends

A few days ago I was in line at the gas station when Harper and Ainsley's former kindergarten teacher, Mrs. Mattox, walked through the door.

"Hey there!" she said. "How are you?"

"Great," I replied. No master of small talk I quickly offered, "Hey, the girls are out in the car."

Without hesitation she turned on her heel and headed right back out the door. When I came out I found the girls filling her in on the past couple of years - new teachers, middle school, Christmas plans. Because both Harper and Ainsley switched schools to be with me they really haven't seen Mrs. Mattox all that much over the past few years. A few moments later Tricia made her way over to the van and we all exchanged pleasantries before the girls received one final hug from their old friend.

Seeing old students is always so wonderful. When I walk my third graders over to the middle school for lunch I often happen across someone I taught just a few years ago. I can always count on a big smile and, occasionally, even a warm hug.

I've been lucky in that I have had a few students over the years who've worked to keep in touch with me. I receive letters in the mail letting me know about family trips, e-mails from parents letting me know their children are keeping at some of things we used to do together in class, or phone calls breaking sad news about family tragedies. I doubt the kids or parents could ever know how important this correspondence is. It's not a "thank you" teachers want so much as an opportunity to see how it all turns out. Or, better yet, to keep up  or rekindle old friendships.

When I was in college I was told that under no circumstances what-so-ever should a teacher become friends with their students. "Friendly, yes. Friends, no." It's a faulty logic built unsteadily upon a simple truth - the teacher is the authority figure. I tend to remember that at the time I agreed with this notion of keeping our kids at arm's length. At least, I did until I actually became a teacher and found it near impossible to subscribe to such an outdated philosophy. How can we spend more than a thousand hours together each year and not swap stories, share laughs, and grow so close that the last day of school is as bitter as it is sweet?

My first couple of years teaching were spent in St. Louis. Each year I had sixteen new faces greet me on the first day of school and over the course of one hundred eighty days we read, talked, explored, played, wondered, and laughed together. While I was still trying to figure out how to be a teacher I learned quickly how important it was to get to know my kids as more than just readers or writers or mathematicians. I learned to get to know them as people. As a result of this, and  contrary to what I had been taught in those undergraduate classes, I can look back now and see that some of my favorite friendships in life took place in that second grade classroom. Friendships that, yes, were different from those with other adults - but friendships all the same.

A few days ago I had the  privilege to reconnect with one of the kids from those second grade years. Claudia, who greeted me on the first day by warning me "I'm Rose's sister but we're nothing alike!", was the type of kid you'd want your own children to be like - funny, thoughtful, curious, and quirky. She wasn't like any of the other kids and, getting to know her, you'd never want her to be. I completely fell in love with her. In the years since leaving St. Louis I've wondered many, many times what happened to her. So when out of nowhere last week I happened across her mother Lori (one of the nicest people you'd ever hope to meet) I was in a state of near-shock. We chatted for about twenty minutes and after exchanging contact information she said "Claudia's coming into town tomorrow. If you're free I know she'd love to see you." Our time in St. Louis this Christmas was so short and tightly scheduled but how could I possibly pass up this opportunity. The only time we had available was early Sunday morning but Lori assured me "Don't worry. For you she'll get up early!"

So on Sunday morning Tricia and I met Lori, Rose, and Claudia at the Bread Company and spent what was easily the best two hours of my entire trip. We shared a few old stories and caught up on the last ten years. Claudia is now twenty-one years old and working at Indiana University. Rose works in the cancer center at Barnes Jewish Hospital. And Lori has another little one making his way through New City School - currently in the same classroom where I was once Rose's student teacher. Go figure.

As random and unexpected as this was I can only hope it marks the beginning of friendships that are both old and new.

Bag of Goodies

Have you seen the series of ads that ask, "What's in your wallet?" It's an interesting question - if we pretend not to notice they're actually wanting to know what kind of credit card you carry. When I was a kid I had a  red St. Louis Cardinal wallet with a velcro strap, an ad for KHTR Hit Radio, and many, many pockets. When you're nine years old you don't really need all these pockets in your wallet. Just a place to keep a few dollar bills and maybe some change. I would fill the other spots with random stuff- baseball cards, bits of paper, and such.

My wallet today is quite different. No longer bright red, it's a boring black leather model that holds my drivers license as well as an assortment of credit cards and insurance cards. Rarely is there any real money in it. Or pictures. Or much of anything. If it were left as an artifact to help future generations better understand what life was like in 2012 I believe they would be unimpressed. Bored, even.

There's this really great book I like to use in my classroom called Material World. The authors of the book traveled the world asking people from various nations to pull everything out of their house to be photographed. It provides a great look into how cultures, subcultures really, go about accumulating stuff so differently - or not at all. There are those with lots and lots of things like this family...

And then there are those with almost nothing at all...

You can probably imagine what the photos of the American families looked like. Loads of things all over their yard, in the driveway, and spilling out into the road. We are a nation of consumers, collectors, and  - occasionally - hoarders.

I don't mean to pass judgment or sneer down my nose at anyone. How could I? You should see what I keep just in my backpack. Yesterday we left straight from school and drove twelve hours into St. Louis to visit family and friends. When we were loading up our things before school Tricia reached down to grab my school backpack for me and about fell over from its weight.

"What do you have in here?" she asked, making a second attempt to hoist it up onto her shoulder.

"Oh, just the regular stuff," I said. "Plus a few extras for the trip."

I didn't think much more about it until I woke up this morning and decided that maybe I should clean my bag out a bit - just in case there were any extra things in there I had forgotten about. Boy, were there!

I pulled everything out onto the bed and began trying to sort it into categories. It was alarming. First, there
were the  holiday cards I had collected from people at school - students, teachers, friends. In this same pile were gift cards for Dunkin' Donuts and Starbucks, not to mention: the list of people I plan to give beer to when I make too much, a phone number on a random scrap of paper, a receipt from Panera, a Dum Dum sucker, a page from Parenting Magazine about math on the playground, a membership form for the Early Childhood Assembly of NCTE, breath strips, a makeshift ruler constructed from notebook paper, a form from USC I was supposed to fill out a month ago, two brass pipe nipples, and a brass coupling.

In another loosely organized pile were a video camera, Parts of Speech sticker, two CDs from my buddy Tim, an external hardrive, a piece of paper with the name Sean written on it, my glasses, some notes from class at USC, way more pencils and pens than anyone could ever need, a chord for the video camera, a nametag necklace from a conference I attended last month, four books (Clone Brews, The Education of Little Tree, Teachers as Intellectuals, and Schoolyard-Enhanced Learning), and two Time magazines.

The next pile held three digital camera USB chords, two charger chords for a cell phone, a wall charger for a camera battery, and a power chord for the laptop. Why I need three different USB chords for digital cameras would be a fair question - and one I'm not certain I could answer. At this point I was beginning to feel a bit like Data from the movie The Goonies. Data carried all sorts of things in his backpack so that whenever a moment of trouble arose he was able to reach into the depths of his bag and pull out exactly the right tool or gadget to save the day. I'm not certain what scenario would call for two phone chargers but I guess you never know.

Perhaps the most logical pile was the one that held school papers from my students - the ones that should have seen the light of day long ago but became lost in all this mess. There was also a folder Ainsley's teacher handed out on the first day of school to help us all understand his beliefs and practices. I held on to it because there was lots of stuff in there I imagined I might one day want to share with the parents in my own classroom - that is, if I can remember that the folder has been strategically "filed" among all this junk. This pile also held a post-it note and a piece of paper on which I had scribbled: POWER - Intellectual Power, Physical Power, Gender Power, Racial Power (books), Age Power, Financial Power, Religious Power, and Oral Language Power. I had created this list to help organize my thoughts around a photography project I've been envisioning for my students. When the time comes to begin planning this I'll know just where to find my notes!

The last pile held a pile of change, two cameras (one is missing from the photo), a draft of a paper Heidi Mills passed along to me, an excellent article that Rachael Carson wrote for Companion magazine in 1956, a packet of information on harassment and bulllying, and the draft of Tim's short story called Smoke and Coffee - which I read last spring. Just to the right of the items in this photograph are four small photo albums, a glue stick, my i-pod, three paperclips, twelve guitar picks, my teaching journal, and a small notebook a friend gave me a few years ago to capture the things I see.




Missing in all this is the laptop I'm using right now. That's a lot of stuff. Too much stuff. However, just think of the many scenarios for which I am prepared. Two digital cameras, a video camera, photo albums, a laptop, brass fittings, parts of speech, a ruler...

Just imagine the all the tight spots Mac Gyver could escape with such a bag of goodies!