In the category of "what topic would you like me to write about?" someone posted, "God, ants, and the Constitution." So, I'll take that as a challenge and run with it.

I know the animation isn't fantastic and Woody Allen's voice is a bit like rusty nails on a chalkboard, but I love the movie Ants for the central message. Group conformity is dangerous. Freedom is valuable. Slogans abound and people warn about being "team players" and "respecting the leader." I watched it recently with my sons and shuddered when I thought about the ant-like mentality of school (or society for that matter. I love the Dave Matthews Band song "Ants Marching" for that reason)

One part that I love about the movie is that it breaks with other dystopian works. Unlike Anthem or A Brave New World, the protagonist moves back to society and works toward transforming it. It's subtle, but powerful. When the other ants rush around him and attempt to make him into a messiah, he steps back and lets them lead democratically.

Our students march in lines, listen to orders and generally do what they are told. They wear uniforms and eat in a common mess-hall-style cafeteria. When I taught about modernism and militarism, I mentioned the German model developed by Bismark and how that influenced our own social institutions. A ballsy student asked the principal, "Lining up to be picked up after lunch is a bit militaristic, isn't it?" She wasn't thrilled with his application of content vocabulary.

If I want to transform the system, I find my inspiration in two separate areas: God and the Constitution. If I'm not careful, I merge the two into an ugly form of syncretism. But on a good day, both the Constitution and my own faith help me to avoid the trap of treating kids like a bunch of marching ants.

I've written before about my multimillenial mentors. From Job, I see the need to stand up for social justice and the need to empower the poor. From Daniel and Joseph, I see the need to respectfully work as a sage to change things and from Jeremiah I see value in being a lunatic standing up to corruption. From Jesus, I see the need for metaphor, a new approach to classroom climate (the upside down kingdom approach), the use of love rather than coercion. I get the paradox of humanity - that we are all broken, beautiful stained glass windows.

On the other hand, from the Constitution, I remember the need to allow free speech and free expression even when it is unpopular. I fail often, but I try and run my class with the social contract in mind and remember that they will not respect me if I don't respect the students. I structure it much like a republic, with students voting on decisions and running optional leadership meetings where students can make decisions. From the Constitution, I see the balance of protecting individual rights and still allowing for the majority to make decisions.

Ultimately, my goal in teaching is for students to think well about life. The two sources I go to most often are God and the Constitution. Don't get me wrong, I don't believe in having the Bible in school or teachers leading prayer. Nor do I believe in using blanket nationalism to indoctrinate children. I'm sure there are great Eastern ideas and ideas from other constitutions. Yet, for all the times that I criticize the government and rip on formal religion, I keep going back to God and the Constitution.

On NPR, I learned that Reading Rainbow is now officially off the air. The Department of Education shifted ideologically toward shows that emphasized the mechanics of language rather than the Reading Rainbow approach of getting kids motivated through story telling. Thus, we have Super Why (mostly synonyms, antonyms, spelling and comprehension) and Word World (phonemic awareness) and Martha Speaks (vocabulary).

Apparently, the problem is that students shouldn't learn things holistically. They need it chunked up and separated into discreet skills. It all made sense until, later that day, I sat in on a language arts class.

The teacher asked, "What's a word that ends in a 'lee' sound? I'll give an example. Likely. Quietly. Your turn," and he pointed to a boy.

"Bruce Lee."

"It does, but that's not a suffix."

"Jet Lee."

"Again, that's not working."

"Chris Farley."

"It can't be a name."

"Quietly," the teacher said.

Misunderstanding the teacher, the student whispered, "Ugly."

"Not exactly. I'll give an example, 'rapidly.' Your turn."

Again, misunderstanding, the student answered as fast as he could, "Funly."

It got me thinking about language and the danger in teaching every skill in an isolated format. George W. Bush knew his suffixes. He added "egy" and "ificate" to words that were make believe. Then again, he believed in a worldwide Axis of Evil conspiracy. Rap singers know their suffixes, too. So you end up with words like "bootylicious."

I know that whole language is a dirty word in the education world. I know that "holistic" conjures up images of kids chasing dandylions rather than learning to read. Still, I have a nagging sense that it should be a paradox. Part expert in one area and part holistic. If I ever go to a heart surgeon, I want an expert on the heart. But I also wanted to be treated as a whole person. And when my kids read, I want them to learn isolated skills, but also have a passion for what they read.

I walk into a classroom yesterday to fix a computer. A student says to his friend, "That's the teacher I have for the fast food class."

"You guys eat food in there?"

"No, we're learning about fast food. Today we talked about why other countries hate us when McDonald's takes over."

The teacher raises her eyebrow and pulls me aside, "What are you teaching for reading?"

I explain to her that I teach informational text analysis. Students read about cultural connections, bias and propaganda, inference techniques, vocabulary building, prefixes and suffixes. "We cycle through the skills based upon what they have the hardest time with."

My answer calms her down. It's not a lie, really. I plan the lessons carefully around the reading and writing skills as stated on our state standards. It's just that, as we read, it's never about the skills. It's about fast food and how it redefines us. Every lesson is a philosophy lesson (whether it is epistimology, ethics, personal philosophy)

It's about the changing forces in labor, politics, social institutions and human interaction. It's about globalization and imperialism and the monolithic culture created by the golden arches. It's about the deeper questions of how to treat people, what makes us happy, the dangers of ambition and effeciency, who should have control over public space and whatever else emerges.

So, we read Fast Food Nation and it's not so much about what's in the food, but about how the fastfood motif shapes our world. I would have guessed ahead of time that we'd study philosophy if we had chosen Aristotle (my choice), but the students chose Fast Food Nation. As we explore it together, I'm thinking about my world in a way that I never have before.

Photo Credit
Flickr Creative Commons
http://www.flickr.com/photos/tdeering/109013098/

I just finished making small talk with the lady who cleans my classroom. She's dusting the cabinets right now. It's hard not to feel guilty. By accident of geography, she sweeps my floors and I teach her children. By sheer military force, she is the colonized and I am the imperialist. I grew up in el norte and with it I have privileges I never earned. Where is the justice in that?

I hope she realizes that my silence right now is not apathy. I'm paralyzed by an old shady land deal.

Photo Credit

Flickr Creative Commons

http://www.flickr.com/photos/pfly/183857729/

Someone wrote a blog comment asking for some of the ideas on how to customize a blog. So, here it is:

#1. Change the background for your blog.

You're going to need a place to host your images (I use photobucket, but I would recommend flickr). If you use the minima template, you'll need to find the code:

body { background:

and change it to

body { background:$bgcolor url(yourpictureurl);

#2: Change your header

The easiest way to do this is to use a free picture editing program. I use photofiltre. Figure out the right pixel size and figure it out. To change the header picture, go to the layout and change it. Make sure to checkmark the option "instead of title and description"

#3: Add widgets to the side.

Blogger allows you to use whatever widgets you want, because one of the options is html. You can search online for whatever widget you want and simply copy the html code. Go to the "edit layout" and click on "add a gadget" and choose "html/javascript"

#4: Create rollover links.

I like to use rollover links, but some people prefer traditional links. Check out the code here for help. Make sure you create two matching images and one minor difference (perhaps color or tone)

#5: Change colors

Based upon your background and your images, figure out a new color scheme. This is a pretty easy thing to fix by going to the layout section.

#6: Change the width

Change the "outer wrapper" to something larger. Personally, I keep mine at 800px, but I could easily increase it to something higher. Then, subtract any padding from your number. For me, the padding is set at 10px. Finally, take the number and divide out how much should be your "main wrapper" and "side bar wrapper." I use 540px for the "main-wrapper" and 250px for the "side-bar wrapper."

#7: Add a favicon.

You can design it on any favicon mini-icon creating programs. I used iconj.com for mine. Each program has a specific code with directions on how to insert it.

one of the world's most under-rated tools - the mighty pulaski (not to be confused with the Revolutionary War Hero)

There is something exhilirating in wielding a chainsaw. It's machine against nature and for once I'm on the winning side. So, I smile too broadly as the limbs of our decaying orange tree fall down. On some level, I think there is something deeply human in the desire to destroy. Whether it's a two year old knocking down Legos or a twenty-two year swinging a wrecking ball, demolition is part of who we are. Call it creative destruction. Or just call it destruction. Either way, it's there in everyone. If I'm not careful, it becomes addicting.

After awhile, though, nature wins. The chain saw can't go through the tough branches and it seizes up with the scent of oil. On a philosophical level, the tree wins as well. Joel assigns the tree gender and says, "She was a good tree. She gave us lots of oranges." All of a sudden, I'm thinking of the orange juice we made together and the oranges we hit with baseball bats. Don't get me wrong, I'm not exactly an arbor-phile, though my mom used to sing to her plants when we grew up and on some level I can appreciate the connection to the land.

***

My grandfather's dying. A machine keeps him breathing. When we visit, it's painful to hear an eloquent, sharp-minded man fight a silent battle with an oxygen tank. I think about my grandpa a lot when I'm swinging the pulaski. It makes me sad to think that, when he dies, a machine will create the hole in the ground and a machine will carry his body. I think about our family friend who died and the way in which we hide from death by calling it a "Memorial Service" and nobody gets a chance to see the body.

I think about the health care debate and the danger in arguing who should and should not live. I know it's expensive to keep my grandpa alive and I know he's a drain on the system and I know that he doesn't contribute to our GDP. But he's my grandpa.

I heard a clip on NPR where a man yelled down a congressman and claimed that "it's the illegal's fault." I teach immigrant children and I want them to have health care as much as I want my grandpa to have health care. I don't pretend to know the answers. But I know there is a danger is creative destruction. I know the same impulse to shout down a congressman is the one that guides my arms as I pull the trigger on the chainsaw.

***

I mention all of this, because I despise the educational elite who lead reform. They walk around wielding chainsaws, uprooting communities, shutting down schools all in the name of change. Call it creative destruction. Call it chainsaw addiction. Call it whatever you want, but I know that there are kids who cried the day they painted over our murals and there are families who lost their community school when it shut down.

The Founding Fathers chose earthy metaphors to describe social institutions. In The Federalist Papers, Hamilton compared the government to a body. Jefferson often compared it to a tree shared by the locale. It's not until the industrial revolution that we see the business/factory metaphor applied to schools.

I'm not sure if it's right for Michelle Rhea and Arne Duncan to shut down schools. I do, however, know that it's wrong to boast about it. For what it's worth, I'd have a little more respect for them if they used the pulaski. At least then, they would experience the pain and labor and awareness of a school that's dying. Yet, as long as they engage in chainsaw massacres, I'll continue to cringe when I hear the word "reform."

how many bubbles must a child fill out
before he sees there’s no choice?
yes and how many walls will be painted white
before they silence our voice?

an extra lined I added to a classic when I drove past the freshly painted white space that used to house a mural (oh and pardon the lack of capital letters -- i'm not trying to be trendy techie guy . . . i might be re-writing dylan, but i feel a connection to e.e. cummings right now)

The staff lounge isn't exactly a bastion of theological inquiry. We mostly talk about our classes, occasionally our families and often Fantasy Football. About a year ago a side conversation broke out in the midst of a discussion about The Office.

"Where do you think Jesus would live if he lived in America?" someone asked.

"I think he'd go to a special ed classroom," a teacher explained.

"If he was a baby, he'd be born at the County Hospital and his parents would be illegal and the doctors would miss the miracle, but the nurses would play the role of the shepherd," a teacher mused.

"I think he'd be in a small town somewhere. Maybe Blyth or Indio."

"I wonder if he'll shock us when he comes back. I wonder if we'll expect him in Jerusalem or some holy city, but instead he'll be at a porn studio and he'll give a woman the first hug she's ever experienced where she was touched without being used," I say.

The conversation ceases, not because of anything profound, but because there is a line of staff lounge propriety and I skip past it way too often. Sometimes I think I'm way too comfortable with thinking about sex and death and other taboo subjects.

I tell this story, because we have a family friend who died a few days ago. I know it's not popular to talk about the afterlife and yet his death is making me think a lot about mortality and God and justice and love. But tonight all I can think is that he gets to meet Jesus face to face and I hate the fact that it makes me jealous and scared rather than content and peaceful.

One of my favorite sages of the past said that it's better to go to a house of mourning than a house of celebration. I tend to agree.

this used to be my image of PE, but I've changed my mind this week

Someone recently posted an angry comment on one of my earliest blog posts. In this comment, the anonymous writer asked me if I was a PE teacher. I wish I was. It's not because they get to wear shorts or walk around with whistles, either. It's because, at our school, the PE teachers use some of the best pedagogy I've ever seen.

While fixing technology around the school, I've noticed that many of the teachers depend entirely on teacher-directed, oral presentations while students dutifully copy notes. The PE teachers use audio, visual, spatial, written, and kinesthetic learning. While textbook companies assume that natural ability, student interest and skill levels are unimportant to motivation, the PE teachers know that there are great students who are naturally slower, heavier, uninterested and even a littel scared. And I've watched these teachers create a safe place where students grow in their fitness.

As a social studies teacher, I used to tell myself, "this particular information isn't all that practical, but I'll teach it to prepare them for high school." When I watch the PE class, the teachers know how to teach "in the now," and they work hard developing practical units despite elitist educators who call their subject "fluff."

I'm not saying that the core curriculum isn't important. Nor am I saying that what I mentioned above is true of all PE teachers. Yet, I have a hunch that what I described is much more common than people realize.

I understand that it's important for students to learn information. I get the need for students to go to college, think well about life, apply concepts to their world. I understand why we have high expectations and why we challenge students to work hard. I get it. I really do.

Still, there is a lingering part of me that believes students need to learn what they don't know. They need to learn paradox and mystery and see things from multiple viewpoints. Instead of transmitting digestible bites for easy intake, we might want to let students see the grandeur of wisdom and arrive at a sense of humility. We live in a world where anyone is an expert.

What if students learned that they are not always experts? What if they learned that they don't always have to have the right answers? What if humility was as important as achievement?

I arrived to this topic after writing another post on my other blog.

I heard a clip from a town hall meeting. An army officer shouted down a Congressman with a diatribte about how he fought for freedom and how he loves our country and he refuses to see us turn into a socialist nation. I take issue with this man, not because he loves our country, but because he fails to see his own hypocrisy. Last time I checked, his salary, housing and health care come out of my paycheck.

I don't get free health care for my family. I serve my country by educating children, which I guess is less important than blowing shit up. For that reason, it costs me $900 a month to insure my family. I would never claim that I should earn more than a soldier. I know nothing about the military, aside from their fondness for green, their short haircuts and their propensity to use acronymns that I'll never learn.

For that matter, I have no business making policy decisions about health care. I'm guessing that people within the medical field might have more knowledge than me. I'd love to see a co-op alternative, a private solution mixed with some tort reform and maybe some monopoly-breaking among the insurance companies. But there's a good chance I'm wrong.

I'm convinced that solutions are often confusing, problems perplexing and viewpoints murky at best. For that reason, I want to see inteligent dialogue occur. I'd love to see a respectful debate. What bothers me is the notion that all viewpoints are equal. Some people know more and should have more of a voice in the debate.

I won't tell a soldier how to fight. Politicians shouldn't tell me how to teach. Soldiers shouldn't educate politicians on political theory. Oh yeah, and Oprah shouldn't tell me what to read (though that has nothing to do with this blog post)

Still, I believe in democracy and so I don't mind a few uneducated ideas, because it helps prevent elitism. Sometimes the best ideas come from amateurs - and often those who approach the subject with a healthy dose of humility. What I can't handle is trite sloganeering and shouting matches.

Sometimes I wonder if schools would do well to teach intellectual humility. I'd love to see students leave school with a sense of what they know, but also with a sense of what they don't know - catching a small glimpse of they mystery of wisdom and the notion of paradox.

I once sat around a table with three stay-at-home moms who all chose to home school their children. Knowing that I was a teacher, they used the moment as a chance for the proslytizing of "unschooling." They offered anecdotal stories of children learning through play rather than through worksheets and presented public education as an obsolete, malfunctioning social institution.

The thing is, I can't blame them. When one woman asks me, "Would you rather your child be socialized through your family or socialized through a government system?" I couldn't help but answer.

"Ideally, we would all have an education and we would all tutor our kids at home. I'd tailor specific lessons to the identity of my child in a warm and loving atmosphere. Kids would play outside with each other all around the neighborhood and recieve instruction at home and it would be organic." At this point, each of the moms are nodding their heads.

"But that's assuming that we all have great families. Here's the reality where I work. Some of the families are amazing. Then again, it's way too common for me to run into a kid whose mom is a drug addict or whose parents have only a third grade education. Nearly every student at my school has two parents who have to work if they're going to survive. I agree that systems aren't as good as families, but when a school works well, we become an extension of the family. Not the nuclear family, but the extended family. I become like a tio to the kids and they trust me."

I once compared the staff to a dysfunctional family. We're all so hurt from the system that we play Staff Lounge Survivor, waiting to vote the next person off the island. We engage in politics and backstabbing and gossip. I've since realized that this is a natural element of all families. Often, what we call politics is either disagreement on ideas or relational conflict. The backstabbing and gossip happen in my own nuclear family (and we're pretty functional as it is)

The reason I use the term "semi-functional" is that there are moments when we become a family. A staff member gets cancer and the whole staff rallies around her. A teacher gets sick and others donate their sick time. We share the same belief in the power of education to change lives.

I noticed this yesterday as parents dropped their kids off to school. For all the negative stereotypes of our student population, we have some dedicated, compassionate parents who trust us with their children. As the children eagerly run to the basketball courts, a teacher from the previous year offers high fives to his former class. Although they call him "Mr." he might as well be an uncle. So, while the home school mom might have a great argument about "unschooling," I can't help but think we're functioning well at being a home away from home to most of our students.

Photo Credit

Flickr Creative Commons

http://www.flickr.com/photos/webguru4god/2789004794/

A few people have asked me why my book is on sale in the Kindle form, but not in the print format. Here's the deal:

I ran into some snags in getting my proof. Then, when I got my proof, I noticed some big errors in spelling and grammar and realized that my last saved copy is actually an earlier copy. So, I've been frantically editing the book. Also, the cover image was too small and so it's a little pixilated. This means, I'm redesigning the cover again. I'm also adding a few cartoons for the inside. Fun stuff, really. But the end result is that I'm way of schedule and now the book won't be out for another few weeks. Maybe I'll release the audio book at the same time.

Joel tells me that he's cold, so I explain that he should run around. I dance and jump to demonstrate what I'm trying to get him to comprehend. So, he runs around the house, does a dance and says, "I feel warmer, Daddy."

"Why does that make me hot?"

"I think it's the creation of energy or the release of energy or something like that," I explain.

He asks what energy is and I tell him it's powerful even though you can't see it. I do my best, but his concept is fuzzy at best. (Indeed, my own knowledge of energy is pretty half-baked).

An hour later, he asks, "Is God made out of energy?"

When I imagined fatherhood, I anticipated hard questions, but not unanswerable questions. I tell him it's a mystery and that people who try too hard to figure out the exact mechanics of God sound a little arrogant.

***

I remember being a kid and hearing about the brilliant idea of the Biosphere. The class was all excited about it and I asked the teacher, "Isn't it dangerous to play God?" He told me it had nothing to do with God, but was just an expirement to see if we could sustain life. I understand where he was coming from. He taught science. I thought philosophically. I learned a lesson to keep the two separate.

It's easy to place the divide between science and religion. Fusing the two can get ugly, with people trying to justify how lyrical poetry fits into evolution. But the divide I created years ago has moments when it begins to crumble. Religion (or philosophy or ethics) warned us about the myth of progress, the dangers inherent in the mechanization of humanity and the danger in conquering the universe.

We can split an atom and destroy a city, but a children's fairy tale should remind us that all the king's men will never piece together what was lost. We can dissect humanity and create clones, but a simple glimpse into A Brave New World makes me shudder. We can develop our own Babel and transcend the boundaries and time and space, assuming we'll never fall, but there are nights when I go on Facebook and glance at the pixels and yearn to go have a pint with a friend instead.

I mention all of this, because I believe all eighth graders should have the option for taking an elective called Science and Ethics or Ethics and Critical Thinking in a Technological Age or perhaps Aristotle in the Astrodome. After eight years of separating science from humanity, they'd have a chance to do what a four year old can do: cross the imaginary dichotomy between science and ethics.

photo credit

flickr creative commons

http://www.flickr.com/photos/mmarsolais/163768907/

I still cringe when I hear teachers refer to our vocation as the "business of education." It conjures memories of the executive teachers who employed the token economy, dressed in a suit, acted as a bully-boss and constantly talked about "the corporate world," with a smug grin. At one time, I mistakenly defined myself as "not that guy."

Over time, I've seen the validity in certain aspects of the business administrator. And, while I still have a tiny anarchist who lives inside of me, I now approach classroom leadership with a sense of mystery and paradox. I need to be an artist-administrator. (My friend Javi the Hippie coined the term and I use it regularly)

The artist focuses on humanity, creativity, the intangible climate of the classroom. The administrator follows procedures, uses objectives and analyzes data in a systematic fashion. The artist tends to be relational while the administrator manages tasks. Often, the overlap is hard to see. For example, the artist might shun the notion of procedures, but phrased in "rituals for relationships," it begins to make sense. Similarly, the artist might refer to a class climate while the administrator would spell out the climate with a marketing term like "branding" or "ambience." Taken together and the class becomes relational and deliberate, creative and critical, safe and challenging, open and structured.

So, I thought through this artist-administrator concept as I approach my first week back with the students. The following is my "to do" list. I realize that this is a Philosophical Friday, but I think it provides a snapshot of how my philosophy has changed to be more of a "both/and" artist-administrator kind of guy:


THE WEEK BEFORE
Lesson Planning

• Review the lessons I created in the summer and see if I can improve them
• Reformat the lessons to the heavy-handed district-imposed, strip-away-the-autonomy format
• Print the lessons and add them to an arbitrary binder that I'll set on my desk
• Make all the photocopies I need for the first unit
  

Procedures

• I use my procedure grid (which is basically a list of questions followed by individual, partner, small group, whole class)
• Think of some off-the-wall examples (and write them down) to see students find ways that people might be failing to follow the procedures
  
• Go through a Student Bill of Rights and see if I still agree with it

Classroom Space

• Make sure there are no chords sticking out anywhere
  
• Make sure I can get to any student within four paces
  
• Sit down in each seat and see if there are any things that might bother students
  
• Add former student art - hang it up and think about how much I miss my former students
  
• Find as many ways as possible for it to look less like a classroom and more like a community
• Make a "cleaning and maintanence" list and add it to my calendar, so that I can remember to dust my classroom or clean my white boards
• Meet the people who will clean my classroom and then memorize their names. Make a note to write them a thank you note in the next three weeks. Then worry if it will come across as pompous.
  

Administrative Tasks

• Put together a calendar with sports schedules, duty schedule, professional development, staff birthdays, grading periods (and progress reports), and any other calendar or date they give me
• Paper trail - think through the whole student paper trail - Where will they learn about their assignment? Where will they turn in their assignment? What will I do after it is turned in? What will I do after I have graded it? What will I do after I added the grade to the computer? What will I do to make sure it gets turned in to them? What will I do if it is missing? How will I handle it if it is late? (For me, I have a separate hanging file folder for each stage and a simple turn-in bin for the beginning and then I have a blog where they can access the late and missing work. For each of the hanging file folders, I have a separate manila folder for each class period. So the "turn back to them" has five manila folders and then I can add all the crap the office forces us to use to this.
  
• Organization - I hate paperwork, so I have to have a method of: Crap that Needs to Go to Another Person, Paperwork I Need to Do, Paperwork I've Done that Has to Go to the Office
• Make sure I know the following procedures: lockdown, fire drill, picking kids up from lunch or anything else where I become a drill sergeant instead of a teacher - and then put that all onto a clipboard that I can pull out when those things happen
  
• Get a sub folder put together
  
• Walk around and help anyone who needs help in technology. Pretend that I'm doing a service when it's really just a chance to find out who they are and start hearing their story
• Make sure my e-mail is working, my Proxima is set up and all other technology gadgets work
  

Things I Don't Do

• Assign a seating chart
• Add names to the gradebook (it will change so much anyway)
• Put together bulletin boards (I let the kids do that)
• Organize my desk - I wait until the second week of school and figure out what I'm missing, what needs to be changed, etc.
• Organize my supplies - I let a student figure it out and add labels to it

Sometimes I wonder if the book I should have written is Tutored by Toddlers. Joel and Micah continue to challenge and transform my beliefs about education and school and humanity. When I write about my kids I wonder if it sounds trite, like a Chicken Soup for the Soul book.

So, we're hanging out with some friends when Micah walks in bragging about how he can pee standing up. We don't offer stickers or Cheerios or miniature candy bars. He can appreciate the sheer joy of watching the yellow magically disappear into the abyss and the sense of satisfaction in washing his hands.

I'm struck by the reality that, at the age of two, learning is always relevant. It's not so much the novelty of life, either. Okay, perhaps it is. I really can't tell. However, I have a hunch that the vast majority of his learning radically impact his life. It's relevant, because it's crucial to his survival in this world.

Last year, I taught social studies to one-hundred and thirty students. At times, it felt relevant. Kids would discuss racism or see conflict resolution or learn about budgeting and financial planning. Or, they'd make deep connections about scapegoating in the Holocaust and scapegoating against Latinos (or they'd talk about schoolyard scapegoats)

Still, I taught certain things that will probably never change how they live. On those days, I resorted to metaphors or stories or interactive activities as a thin veneer on the deeper reality that kids probably don't need to know about the Warsaw Pact. (It becomes a dialogue about alliances and acquisition and the fact that people aren't all that different than nations. If I'm not careful, it becomes a conversation about what makes people content or a discussion on bullying)

If I could change curriculum maps in every subject, I'd begin with the question, "How will this change the way that students think about life? How will it affect how they interact with people? How will it change the way that they view their world?" If the answer is, "Well, some people in some jobs might some day use it," I'd push it to the back of the map and allow kids to find it when they walk away from the map and get lost in the forest.

Photo Credit

Flickr Creative Commons

http://www.flickr.com/photos/huladancer22/530743543/

I post this, because I'm convinced that students who doodle are often paying attention in class. It's an unpopular view, but I let kids sketch on the rare occasion that I lecture.

I heard an interview with multibillionaire George Soros today. Apparently, he's passing out two-hundred dollar checks to families in the ghetto so that they can buy school supplies. It's a nice gesture, really. It's probably compassionate, too. Still, I think it's misdirected.

I've worked in low-income areas for over a decade now, first in the non-profit sector and now in education. I used to get really angry with these money-dumps from rich celebrities. Somehow Alice Cooper with a ten foot wide check seemed to miss the truth of the widow's mites. I remembering, week after week, seeing a working mom scrimp and save to donate a few cans to the food bank. She never had her picture in the paper. Instead, she'd volunteer in the kitchen the night of the fancy shirt-and-tie banquet in honor of the rich donors.

I'm not so angry anymore. Fame one of the many currencies that rich people trade and a press release with a washed-up rocker can mean more donations. A charity becomes trendy like driving a Volt in order to save the environment and our economy. It's very Kashi and all.

***

I went to Wal-Mart the other day and it was packed. The same parents that the neo-con talk radio pundits label as "Welfare Queens" helped their kids sort through stacks of binders and erasers and reams of paper.

"No mija, not Dora the Explorer. She can't find her way around the jungle. Have you seen her? How will she help you find your way through fractions? Besides, you're too old for her. Do they have one with the Santos?"

"The football team?" her son asked.

"No, the Santos. Fourth grade is going to be hard. You'll need some help."

In this moment, I felt like crying under the weight of being a teacher. It hit me that some of these parents were eagerly entrusting me with their children and all of a sudden it felt real heavy.

It's not uncommon where I work to see parents with a fifth or sixth grade education who are learning English with their children. They might not be the greatest homework tutors. Their jobs might prevent them from joining a PTA, but a simple glance at Wal-Mart reveals the reality that they care.

What bothers me is that the two hundred dollar check robs that scrimping and saving to buy cans of food for donation working class mom of one of the few areas where she can invest in her child's education.

I'm one of four Libertarians nationwide who voted for Obama. I knew I would disagree with his policies on the bailout and on health care reform. However, I thought he might push back No Child Left Behind and I hoped he'd be pro-immigration.

Apparently, we'll leave the children behind, but what's important is that we take most of them on a Race to the Top. From what I gather, Race to the Top, is all about merit pay, charter schools and heavy-handed talks about accountability. It's not the rhetoric of hope and change I heard months ago.

It's the wrong metaphor. Might as well call it The Global Pissing Contest from the Top. Or perhaps the War on Slow Students and Lousy Teachers. It's the basic idea that begins with the assumption that education is a global commodity and that we're making bad edu-widgets right now and so we all need a bailout. While that might be true of U.S. cars, education isn't meant to be a factory. Children are humans, not machines. If the purpose of education is to think well about life, I cannot see how that fits into the race metaphor.

When everything is a competitive race, here's what happens:

• People are more likely to cheat - If it's all about the reward, people will get unethical in order to win
• Intrinsic motivation decreases - If I am focused on getting bonus pay, I am less likely to teach because I care about the students
• Cooperation ceases - Everyone is in it for themselves
• Growth cannot be sustainable - Eventually it levels out or even dips down
• We sacrifice long-term results for short term gains

The last thing I can think of that really employed the use of merit pay based upon data, accountability for all and a race toward the top was our housing economy. It worked for awhile. The bubble really grew. Then it burst. The focus on achievement for the sake of achievement led to a crash and now I'm seeing friends who are foreclosing on homes.

I drew a political cartoon about my thoughts on the Race to the Top and why we're playing Icharus.

One of the funniest things I've seen in a long time:

Photo Credit

http://www.despair.com/somevedi.html

Disclaimer: I'm not in any way paid or reimbursed by despair.com, though I'd love to be one of their spokesmen.

I had a friend in high school who attended a parochial school. It wasn't parochial in the sense of belonging to the community. In fact, it was as transient and gated as the suburban neighborhoods of my high school. He told me that it was "more Roman than Catholic" and shared stories of the primary grades where one of the Sisters would pull out a paddle when he forgot his fractions.

I thought about him while listening to a Death Cab for Cutie song. The lyrics include:

In Catholic school

as vicious as Roman rule

I got my knuckles bruised by a lady in black

And I held my tongue

as she told me "Son fear is the heart of love"

So I never went back

It got me thinking about teachers in the past. We never had paddles, but we had one man whose life revolved around coaching wrestling and offered impromptu lectures on "kids these days." He used to punish my twin brother and me for the same crime, because he couldn't tell the difference between us. I had another teacher, on the other hand, who not only coached me in History Day, but spoke life into me in the darkest moments of junior high.

I'm about to start a new school year and I'm thinking of adding that Death Cab for Cutie song to my paper-grading rotation. It's easy, in a world of staff development meetings and checking boxes in lesson plans, to forget the power of that teachers possess.

I don't believe we are inherently good. Beautiful, yes. Capable of great things, absolutely. But good, no. Motives are always muddled and confusing. The most altruistic moments seem to contain a tinge of selfishness. I see this in small moments, like the way I cut people off in conversations or how quickly I change the subject when it's of no interest to me.

Spend a day with my sons. Everyone talks of how sweet and pure and innocent children are and on some level that's true. Yet, they grab toys from one another and they hit one another and they lie and manipulate. They're not too different from me, except I'm more likely to gossip about someone than call the person a "stinky monster."

I don't believe the world is "basically good," with the bad stuff grabbing the headlines. It's broken. It's ugly. When I'm really busy I forget this. When I'm in a highly controlled environment, I start believing in Utopian ideals. Get me around Starbucks too much and I'm liable to say, "life is good." But have me read student poetry and I'll start crying.

Despite this reality, I'm one of the happiest people I know. I expect little kids to throw toys at one another and so I'm less likely to get angry with them. Instead, we have a great conversation and they slowly learn to change. Because I make this assumption, I'm also able to see the beauty in their forgiveness. After all, what adult would take a Tonka truck in the face and then turn around minutes later and hug the person who says, "I'm sorry."

I remember everyone saying, "just wait for the honeymoon stage to be over. Then you'll see what marriage is really like." I assumed that marriage would be difficult and I've been shocked at how relatively painless it's been. I assumed that fatherhood would be a purgatory of poopy diapers and sleepless nights. I've been surprised by how fun it can be. I have a hunch that someday I'll get a dog and assume it's nothing but chewed up sprinkler heads only to find a level of deep, unconditional companionship instead.

Moreover, when I have pessimistic worldview, I not only notice the beauty of life, but I can confront a broken world honestly. I can be transparent about who I am. I can look at life and realistically work toward change, knowing that changes are often small and slow and barely noticeable. I'm not constantly crushed by the weight of the failure of my dreams.

I'm always a little cautious when I see young, idealistic teachers. It's hard when they seem overly cheery at first. I want to pull them aside and say, "Now, you do know that at least one kid will tell you to fuck off this year and another one will spread a rumor about you sleeping with another teacher." I want to warn them, because so many optimists end up placing an asterisk on their "everyone is basically good" list and eventually it starts to fill a bit like Kris Kringle. Or they'll turn completely cynical and miss the amazing side of their students.

I'll see a teacher tack up a motivational poster and I always want to recommend the demotivational posters from despair.com instead. It's not motivation they need. It's a healthy dose of realism.

Photo Credit

Despair.com - probably the funniest site on the web

A few more bonus ones:

It's already out in Kindle, but it will be a little while longer for it to come out in the print form. Look for an update soon!

Print Version

$9.50

Release Date: 09-09-09 (or earlier)

Kindle eBook

$4.00

Available at

Amazon.com

Photo Credit

Flickr Creative Commons

http://www.flickr.com/photos/dailyinvention/497294952/

Photo Credit

Flickr Creative Commons

http://www.flickr.com/photos/28328703@N08/2670566753/

A meandering musing on a paradigm shift from a better living to living better.

Photo Credit

Flickr Creative Commons

http://www.flickr.com/photos/coreforce/1934923209/

A video created by our students for the introduction to our documentary. They had some real creative ideas and we ran with them.

You can check out more videos and podcasts at my Multimedia Musings Blog

I really had fun with this one. The kids had some bizarre ideas of a real low-fi method of telling people visually what our documentary was all about.

Two students filmed this and I sat with them and helped them write out what they wanted to say about the graffiti controversy in our community. It just doesn't feel like such a black and white issue and I think this video demonstrates that.

I'm a big fan of fresh starts. I love how Apple reinvented itself by selling all that cool iCrap. I love how Bill Gates reinvented himself as a philanthropist (though I think he should stay out of educational reform). I'm a fan of second chances and redemption and do-overs. It's why I don't read cumulative folders (also because I hate the way the educational community tends to abbreviate the term). It's why I never ask a teacher what a kid was like the year before.

I also believe that environment is powerful. Kids come in with prior knowledge that goes beyond the subject and into the structure of school itself. For them, the start is never as fresh as they had hoped. When they walk into a classroom, certain elemetns will confirm this prior knowledge. They expect desks in rows, manufactured posters and a list of class rules.

So, as lame as this might seem, I work my hardest to create a classroom atmosphere that doesn't remind them of school. I won't hang up posters that brightly advertise fractions. I won't have anything with empty rhyming slogans. I want students to walk into my door on the first day and think, "this is different."

I could list many reasons for failing to appreciate the musical quality of Celine Dion. However, my negative reaction has less to do with my propensity to enjoy anti-pop folk artists and more to do with a few negative experiences. Case in point, I'm at the grocery store looking for my wife's very specific bottle of shampoo. It's a long ordeal, given the sheer number of hair care products on the aisle.

Out of nowhere, I hear, "I finished crying in the instant that you left. And I can't remember where or when or how." It jars me. Ironically, her song about a memory coming back to her is precisely what causes me panic. Don't get me wrong, I don't have a full-scale panic attack or anything, but for a moment, my memory is flooded with every memory of every crown, filling and root canal I've endured. I've always hated Celine Dion's music and now I realize why. I associate all of her songs with painful dentist memories.

I have students who react strongly to certain stimulae. Last year, a student informed me, "I like your class. I liked it from day one, because you didn't have any Garfield posters. That bastard of a cat, always mocking me with his smug grin, always telling me to have a better attitude when he's got the worst attitude of any cartoon cats. At least Tom wants to rid the world of vermin. Garfield just eats lasagna."

Apparently this smart, high vocabulary kid, really hated Garfield. Then he gets to the deeper reality. "I was a bad student the first three years. I get good grades now, but I hated school when I was little. You know what the worst part was? I had teachers who were just like Garfield and who would say some really shameful stuff to me with the same smug grin."

I hate the notion of shame with a smile. It's why I don't like dentist offices and why I don't like McGraw Hill and why I don't like teacher merit pay. I don't believe that shame ever works. It paralyzes people, throwing them into a spiral. Even when external behaviors work for a short time, the long term effects kill motivation. So, with the school year starting, I want to do everything within my power to avoid shaming kids, because I have way too many memories of times when I became just like Garfield.

Photo Credit

Flickr Creative Commons

http://www.flickr.com/photos/robbrucker/407842334/

 

photo credit - flickr creative commons

It's sometimes hard for me to explain to somebody why I chose to self-publish a book. I sometimes worry about being judged for "vanity publishing." Occasionally someone will say, "You know that they let anyone publish." So, that's me. I'm anyone. I'm an amateur. My tag line on this blog has always been "musings from a not-so-master teacher."

The process has been frustrating. For example, it was really easy to set up an eBook on Amazon.com, but I've been stuck with a minor glitch on CreateSpace. I had a really hard time figuring out cover images and finally, at the last minute, chose an image based upon a suggestion from my wife. There's a sense of solitude in this. I have no formal editing, no marketing, no press release or any of that. And then there's the pride issue. A part of me feels like I need that publisher's stamp of approval.

Yet, there is another side of being an amateur that I embrace. I get to set my own pace. If I want to create an audio version, I can take a month to record it. If I want to delay publication, it's my choice. Which leads to the next great thing. I get to have autonomy. I don't have an editor telling me what to change. I get to create my own quirky design elements. It's pretty fun. Then there is the pride issue again. Maybe the best thing for me right now is to realize that my work will stay within my small, loyal, supportive cyberfriends who tune into my musings and who provide encouraging comments that have saved my career.

I'm learning slowly to appreciate my amateur status. After all, it's a group of amateur enthusiasts who customize my favorite Ubuntu distro to work better than Vista. Every few years or so an amateur scientist discovers something new that the professionals miss. In the end, there is something cool about being a little indie and bizarre and outside the establishment. True, it's sometimes humbling, but right now being an amateur is exactly what I need.

A well-intentioned teacher (whom I respect greatly) comments at a training, "We have fifteen seconds. In a digital culture, that's all you get. They are the point and click video game generation." I've heard this before. It's the idea that the medium itself changes our attention spans.

I don't buy it. Don't get me wrong, the medium changes how we process information. Heavy-dose television watchers seem more accustomed to demand entertainment in learning. Those who access Web 2.0 tools most frequently seem to be the same people who want learning to be interactive. Bookish types (like me) handle lecture okay, but would just as soon read it and talk about it rather than see a video about it.

Still, that has little to do with our attention spans. From my experience, children tend to have a higher attention span when information is:

• presented in a medium they use most often. Hence a kid who spends hours reading Harry Potter doesn't seem to squirm too much when having to spend forty minutes reading Fahrenheit 451.
• fits one's learning style. I can do a "kinesthetic activity" for ten minutes tops before it feels chaotic and shallow. Others can spend hours "just doing" and learning from it. So, that kid who seems to have little attention span when reading might not be conditioned by television so much as more dominant in kinesthetic learning. I've also learned that kids adjust to a learning style. Sometimes they just need a chance to build stamina. I used to get bored with running and now I can go out for a two to four hour run.
• inherently interesting. I have kids who say, "I hate to read" and then come to me after class to borrow Brave New World to jump ahead. Why? It's a relevant read.
• connects to one's life. I remember it if I feel close to it somehow on a personal, emotional and rational level.
• challenging. If a kid seems uninterested in spending an hour filling out worksheets, it's probably because the task is too easy and, honestly, kind-of boring.

So, what does this mean in my classroom? It means we're not all doomed. Make a lesson engaging, interesting, relevant and personal, with the inclusion of multiple learning styles and kids can spend two hours on a task. It also means that teachers who integrate technology aren't doing kids a disservice in terms of attention spans. Most importantly, though, it means that we're all human and as much as we like to say that Digital Natives are so different, they're not. They're just kids - as scared and lonely and hopeful and bored and intimidating and goofy and social as we were growing up.

I'm reading a fresh translation of an older work. I'm convinced that Tolstoy is a genius in analyzing the human psyche and so, despite the daunting appearance of a massive text, I plunge into book with reckless abandon. The book is deep on a personal, philosophical level. Yet, it's an easy read, but when I recommend Anna Karenina to people, they automatically assume that it's too difficult.

I blame schools. I think we made "old" work inaccesible to children. First, we added insanely ridiculuous comprehension questions, then we added background lectures and extra "scaffolding." In some cases, we integrated the classics into a textbooks and textbooks tend to be inherently intimidating. Some teachers, in an attempt provide help, made things worse by supplanting the classic works with movies or by breaking the reading up into a jigsaw activity.

Some of the problem lies with the publishers. They typically create long, drawn-out introductions, written in a highly academic prose. The typeface, cover and description on the back are nothing like the novels students prefer to read. So, before students crack open a classic, they recieve an implicit message that "it's not for me."

I've noticed with my own eighth grade students that they seem scared of old literature. Like the first time visiting a nursing home, the difference in years creates an emotional chasm. However, when students begin reading, things slowly change. Often, the classics are more accessible than contemporary works. For example, I wouldn't let an eighth grader read Wiggenstein, but I'd recommend Aristotle. I wouldn't recommend Norman Maillor, but they can track with Upton Sinclair or Tolstoy.

Photo Credit

Flickr Creative Commons

http://www.flickr.com/photos/anokarina/3776063390/

My wife took this picture and so I really have no business putting it on this blog. But I like how it looks, so I'm using it and giving her credit.

photo credit - flickr creative commons

I used to hate when teachers would punish an entire class for things one student did. I remember telling myself that I would never do that, only to fall into this trap my first year of teaching. Each year, though, I reduce the number of times I discipline the class as a whole.

Typically, there are three main reasons that teachers discipline an entire group. Often, these tactics aren't the most effective.

1. One person did this and no one will rat them out: This creates an unnecessary power struggle between students and teachers. It forces students to decide if they want your approval or peer approval. Often, peer approval is still worth the risk. A better option for me has been to say, "Whoever it was needs to admit it. I've already forgiven you, so you might want to apologize. " I know it sounds strange and you can take it or leave it, but this method has worked well.
2. You want to pit the group against a student in a method of peer pressure. Typically, this creates a martyr situation and martyrs are admired, not scorned. The best it can possibly produce is a potential bullying situation where they will still hate the teacher. A better situation would be to figure out how to deal relationally with that one particular student.
3. The whole class as an entire group was too loud, too crazy, too bad for a sub. When this is the case, it's usually an issue of bad procedures, poor expectations and other issues. While it makes sense to address individuals, usually all it takes is a quick review of expectations.

The weekly schedule is back! Here's the first Metaphor Monday.

My dad is, in many ways, a traditional Midwestern man - socially conservative, a perpetual risk manager, a generally honest guy, uncomfortable with messy emotions or extroverted displays of affection. He understands practical ideas. So, when he first taught me to shave, I listened.

Except, he told me one piece of advice that made no sense. "John, you need to feel your whiskers. You don't shave based upon what you see. Some day you'll have bifocals and you won't be able to depend on twenty-twenty vision. So, feel your way through it."

Until about a month ago, I'd always miss a spot. Perhaps this is too personal, but I have the world's worst facial hair. I could grow a massive neck beard. If those become trendy, I'll be in luck. Until then, it's hard to have huge patches where facial hair won't grow. It makes it easy, then, to miss scraggly hair right by the back of my jaw line or right under my lip. What's awful about this is how I can skip for a day and never notice it, but I miss one hair and think about it constantly.

So, after fifteen years of shaving, I finally listened to my dad. He's right. I'm better off trusting feelings than the empiracle evidence in front of my mirror.

***

When I first taught, my mentor Brad the Philosopher told me that it's something I'd have to feel my way through. He warned me that a man could fill up a white board with observable objectives and start to believe that learning is an observable behavior. A teacher could add a segment called Checking for Understanding on a lesson plan format and start to miss the mystery.

It's counterintuitive, perhaps even counter-logical, to believe that the unseen is as valid as the seen. It's hard to believe that education isn't a commodity and it's not a behavior. It's a mental process and any assessment is a fuzzy picture at best. It's a mystery. For all the talk of the importance of data and research and daily reflection, I do best when I don't overanalyze.

I'm at my best as a teacher when I teach the way I shave - feeling my way through it rather than trying to manage the minutia.

I'm giving this blog a short, two-month sabbatical for two reasons. First, I am running out of relevant ideas and I want to rethink some metaphors, technology and paradigm shifts. I want to figure out what Philisophical Friday should be and how it can be a little more personal and practical. I realize how quickly blogging can get stagnant and I want to go beyond "writing for the sake of writing."

In addition, I will be co-writing a summer blog series called A Television's Guide to the First Year of Teaching. The first five blogs should be up on Friday. My friend Javi will be co-writing it and I'm really excited about some of our ideas. We'll try to blend practical ideas with our own stories.

As I take a break in this blog, I am posting book reviews. Feel free to comment on various book recommendations.

When asked once about the book that shaped my thinking the most, the easiest answer was the Bible (which is annoyingly cliche for Christians).  Beyond that, though, I can't narrow it down.  I love books and I recognize that they have shaped my thinking in all that I do.

So, I started a summer blog series awhile ago where I review books.  Many of the "teacher books" did little to change my approach, while many of the non-teacher books have radically transformed how I approach teaching (Modris Eksteins, Leo Tolstoy, Shusaku Endo, Gabriel Garcia Marquez, Neil Postman, Donald Miller to name a few).

Feel free to check out the Book Reviews.

Okay, so this time my blog post doesn't have a creepy John Travolta picture. I half-wondered if that would cause me to lose my blog subscribers. I guess today might be the determining factor.

I began this blog a few years back as a way to communicate with friends who had moved away. It's by no means trendy and I am by no means an expert, but I'd like to share a few things I would offer to teachers new to blogging:

1. Be personal. I realize the need to be careful about online communication, but I've found that being transparent online doesn't push people away. It draws them closer. I've never claimed to be a guru with "the next best thing" and because of this, I feel like I've had really cool conversations with fellow teachers.
2. Broad isn't bad. A lot of teachers write blogs about one topic in education. I don't even stick to just education. I could be in the minority here, but I like to feel surprised. My favorite bloggers aren't the ones who stick to one topic, but who view the entire world through their own quirky filter. For example, I like the way ms teacher integrates her thoughts on politics, her experiences and her family stories into her blog.
3. Use Teacherlingo. I don't work for the company and I'm not being paid to write this. But I know that most of the people who view this blog first saw it on Teacherlingo. If you're new to it, I recommend Betty's Blog.
4. Think through the visual side. I like it when I see a blog and it fits the personality of the author. I attempted to make this blog creative in its design, because it fits me. I'm not suggesting that everyone go with this look, but simply that it fits me. When I go to Brazen Teacher's blog, it seems to fit her. It's simple and artistic. Same goes with Doyle the Science Teacher (who has an earthy, simple look) and the Cornerstone Blog (who has a simple look and an organized, easy to navigate site).
5. Figure out a name that will stick. I've done a really bad job. My blog is technically "Musings from a Not-So-Master Teacher." I break it up into multiple linked blogs with a similar look. But it gets confusing. The title is John Spencer's Blog. The tile of my ed-centered blog is Learning with Impact. If I had it to do all over, I'd start with the same name the entire time.
6. Interact with other people. It's crazy to think that people will read and comment on your blog when you never read anyone else's.
7. Use multimedia. I'm still beginning this. I'm just now starting to add pictures, videos and podcasts. (I have a bunch of podcasts that I can't figure out how to transfer) There's another dimension to people when they share a different side of them. It's cool, for example, to hear a blogger's voice.

Perhaps the creepiest thing I've seen in years. Even scarier than Trovolta in drag in Hair Spray. Yet, a random example of an eighties kid's memories of the obsession with bodily perfection.

Micah started singing a song he learned in Sunday school. "I have to hands that go, clap, clap, clap. I have to eyes that go blink, blink, blink. Thank you, Lord." Joel adds his own line, "I have a heart that can pump out blood. Thank you Lord." (And thank you, Sid the Science Kid.) I sing along and do the hand gestures out of an unspoken social contract. I'll do the Sunday school songs, but then he sings Sufjan Stevens and Counting Crows.

So, I'm at the gym. I'm thinking self-righteously, "I'm not them. After all, I'm the only one in here listening to a song about zombies or a tune from Jose Gonzales." Then, within this bastion of narcissistic zone of mirror-posing, I am struck by the reminder that a body is a temple. True, the emphasis is wrong here. The gym maintains an unfortunate shift to worshiping the body itself.

But then again, so is the implicit anti-physical message I grew up with in the church. There was always a sense that spirituality was meant to be abstract and deep and profound. Never earthy. Never physical. In fact, when they showed us films with Jesus, he had crisp, white clothes and shiny hair and later, on the cross, he had washboard abs. Yet, despite being so image driven, it was as if they seemed frightened by a Jesus who was earthy or dirty or fleshy. So, they went with a graven image instead.

I realize that this might sound a bit like a weird Christian camp exercise or something, but I started to pray in connection to the body. I thanked God for oxygen and lungs and prayed for my grandpa who is dying of emphysema. I thanked God for food and drink and enjoyment. For a mind that can think, for an arm that can embrace my wife and kids. I prayed for Christy's family members who are either battling or dying dying from cancer. I thanked God for the ability to hear music and see beauty and feel emotion.

I'm not sure why I am blogging about this. It's just that the culture at large places such an emphasis on image that it might as well be the Jesus movie all over again. And, as my sons grow up, I really don't want them to feel shame about their bodies. I don't want them to miss out on the reality that the human body really is something spectacular. I don't want them to believe the point of life is to attain washboard abs or move to the opposite extreme and view the body with shame and disgust.

I'm not sure if a healthy perspective is possible in our culture, but I'm hoping they can hold onto the message of that annoying Sunday school tune as long as possible.

Incidentally, for a great blog post on a healthy perspective on the human body, check out my friend Quinn's blog post.