My goal, at a technological level, is not to teach skills.  Rather, I want students to become technologically literate.  This means, they will learn to analyze how technology is used, evaluate its effect on society and blend it in creative ways. I'd like students to be cybergeeks, who are experts in using technology and technogurus who can criticize the dehumanizing elements of technology.With that in mind, here is how I organize my quarter-long class:

Weeks 1-3: My Life
A project where students create a blog telling their life story.  They do a multimedia poem, a picture-based study of their geography, a slideshow presentation of their culture, a life philosophy, a "this I believe" blog post, a life narrative using the border as a metaphor and an ethnographic study of language in their life.

Weeks 4-6: My World
Here they explore an issue, create potential solutions to the issue (and engage in a short service learning activity with it) and develop either a socially ethical business or a nonprofit solution to the issue (on a website).  They get into research, develop a website, create a video and complete a community Needs Assessment on a spreadsheet.  In the end, they have to compare the difference between their charity or company and the charity where they volunteered.

Weeks 7-9: My Future
Here students do more research on potential careers.  Someday I'd like to have a job shadowing element to this.  They go through some personal finance and goal-setting activities as well.

Students also work on a bi-weekly article to go on our Social Voice website and they participate in our class social network (where much of the online interaction takes place). Each child has a personal and a class blog in addition to the three main projects and the four Social Voice articles.

What I'm trying to do is to get them to use all the technology tools in a cyclical way, so that they build upon what they used in the previous unit.  My reason for posting this is that I'd love feedback on how I could build upon this or change it up somehow.

On my worst days, I'm a publicity artist.  No, artist isn't the right word.  Art redeems.  I'm a mask maker. I spin stories with a cut and paste approach so that my blogs begin to resemble a highlight film.  I mention reading classics with them or painting murals or doing documentaries.  After awhile, I begin to resemble one of the silverscreen superteachers I detest so much.

I fashion this mask for mixed reasons and it happens so subtly that I fail to notice.  On one hand, I want to protect students.  I want to defend them from negative stereotypes of "ghetto" kids.  On the other hand, I want my blog to sound interesting, so I fill it with the highlight reel. If I'm really honest with myself, I try to sound impressive, because I want to feel important or interesting or more like a big boy blogger and less like a scared kid.

From Last Year (A Student Video that Sums Up How I Feel):

I was shaken by a positive comment on another blog post.  It was flattering and it felt good.  But the compliment belonged with the mask. Beneath, I kept thinking, "Oh, if you visited my class, you'd see the reality behind it and you'd see how boring my day seems to outsiders."

My students aren't super-interesting.  I'm not a phenomenal teacher.  Today, I spent five minutes lecture-nagging my seventh hour on the importance of silence during bell work.  I reviewed the basic concepts of the three branches of government and even after a cheesy game of Don't Screw Up! students still couldn't tell me about checks and balances and separation of powers.

When students stayed after school to draw Veteran's Day Cards, I started out tired and detached and it required a courageous kid to call me out on it. So, that's me with my mask off.  A little bland, way too normal,  cynical.

I'm going to church today.  I will fit in for the following reasons:

1. I'm white
2. I'm middle class
3. I'm married
4. I have children
5. I was raised in the church

Jesus was neither of those five.  I'm not sure if he'd have a place at most churches.  Perhaps he'd be part of a semi socially awkward singles group / meat market and they'd think he's sexy, because he used to be a carpenter and blue-collar workers are so trendy right now and he's got the beard of an indie folk singer.  But he'd probably scare people with his Palestenian accent.

Is it my imagination or does the president of Iran look a bit like Ray Stevens?

Recently, I read an article about a small town school that cancelled home-coming after an incident of vandalism.  It was a typical high school prank.  A logical consequence might have been that the students should have cleaned up the mess.  Or, find the students involved in leading the group and take them to court for vandalism.  Yet, logic has no place in "sending a message." 

The principal at my last school (we'll call her Radical Bunny, since that was the name of the allegedly illegal company she ran that "lost" millions of dollars from investors) recently punished all seventh and eighth grade students for a food fight.  The result is the cancellation of all field trips, dances and assemblies as well as the loss of lunchtime recess.  They have security cameras that can catch the perpetrators. Yet, it's easier to blame everyone for failing to stop it.

I can't believe administrators use these antics. If I punished an entire class for the actions of a few students, I would receive a Letter of Direction. If our government punished our entire nation for the actions of a few rogue criminals, we'd call this place Iran.

A student sang, "Looks like we made it.  Look how far we've come now baby."  It was awkward, in one of those silent lulls in group work.  Oddly enough, the class didn't laugh.  I later asked him what type of music he enjoyed and he responded, "techno, classical, reggae, underground rap, pop, old school gangsta rap, country, bluegrass and classic rock.  I pretty much like anything."

"Anything?" I asked.

"Yeah, I'll try anything."

"Even Brittany Spears."

"I like teeny bop pop.  You have to admit that 'Hit Me Baby One More Time' is catchy."

It's a general philosophical shift that I've experienced over the last few years.  Basically, it works like Pandora.  Students experiment with something new, give it the thumbs up or thumbs down and then figure out something new that might fit within this blended reality.

Take, for example, the old social hierarchy.  At my school, there are no gangster wannabes and skaters and dancers and nerds.  It's changed so that a child now moves freely between groups, redefining the boundaries between each group.  A boy might say, "I'm a little emo, but I like sports and I'm into skating." So, he changes his style of talk, his mannerisms and his clothing and plays chamillion within each group.  Or he adds pieces of each group together.

I see it in the way students view all of life.  Piece it together.  Experiment.  Go social and yet be isolated. Break the boundaries, not out of defiance, but because all boundaries seem like an illusion.  Whether it's my students' view of religion or sex or music or art or social cliques, it's becoming a Pandora Generation; and for better or for worse, it's out of the box.

I saw a kid at the stop walk today. He had crutches. You know, the type that have the brace at the arm. Cars passed by and ignored him. Not a huge injustice by any means, but I kept watching the indifference. Everyone had deadlines and work details and breakfast bars and talk radio and text messaging and blue tooth conversations beckoning them. I wanted to cry, but I couldn't.

I read this passage in Amos about a decade ago, when I was in Brazil. It was about an hour after I stepped over the body of a street kid. I had never stepped over death. The boy must have been eight or nine, completely pale and I could see his eyes.  It was the first and perhaps the last time I've ever wiped sticky blood off my sneakers. People continued to walk. Someone explained to me that he'd been stealing food from the local stores and that, with such a low profit margin, shop owners got angry sometimes and sent a message. 

On another day, I'd have been angry with God for sounding so pissed off in this passage. I'd have asked him why he needed to shout and scream. But Amos put into words what I could not express. For what it's worth, I'm glad God cares about injustice. I'm glad the Bible includes Amos. I need it, because I can start to think, in my suburban reality, that we live in a Magical Kingdom of happily ever after.

I have a hunch that people who watch television less often actually enjoy it more.  Tonight is Thursday, which means I'll watch The Office and laugh.  I won't text.  I won't be on Facebook.  For a half hour, I'll immerse myself in the fictional world created by some of the best writers in America. At one time, I railed against t.v.  I'd provide prepackaged self-righteous rants courtesy of Neil Postman.  I'd add enough cuss words to make it sound like it came from me.

Sometimes I get into a place where I think, "The world needs more art and more beauty."  Or I think, "I wish I could have great coffee every day."  Perhaps the greatest gift of a broken world is scarcity.  It's not an issue of novelty.  It's more a reality that saturation of any kind leads to boredom.  It's why I only drink beer once or twice a month and it's why it will be a few years before I run another marathon.  It's also why I drink Starbucks once a week.  Call me a minimalist, but I know how easy it is to go from beautiful to banal.

So, here's where this philosophy shatters.  I never tire of hearing Joel and Micah sing.  I never get bored of talking with Christy.  And, for what it's worth, I still feel excited when I enter my classroom each morning.

I'm starting to think that the secret of balance isn't moderation.  Maybe it's finding enough things that make life enjoyable that I can find my escape in moderation.

In my other blog, I posted something about fatherhood and memories of my own dad.  My dad responded in a way that made me cry.  He said that he loves me and he's proud of me and that he thinks we're better parents than he was.

Someone once told me that it's easier to hear about God the Father when one's father was a positive role model.  On some level, I agree.  I've never seen God as abusive or mean-spirited or cruel.  I've never seen him as absent or too busy.  There is a danger, however, in taking the father metaphor too firmly.  If I'm not careful, I define God as being just like my dad. If I'm not careful, I start to think that God is overly organized, really into action movies and a straight-ticket Republican.

I wonder if that's why some people really like Systematic Theology.  Metaphors are earthy, murky and confusing.  Words like omniscient and omnipotent and omnipresent and any other "omnis" are crisp and clear and almost scientific.  Almost. If I can create a list of the "12 attributes of God," I can have a great conceptual understanding of him.

But I've never loved a concept. I've never loved a list or an abstraction or a bulleted point. It's interesting how Jesus approached the misinterpretations.  He didn't say, "Man, you guys are scared shitless of the Father and here are five things he is and four things he's not.  Memorize them and get it right."  Instead, he told stories about runaway sons arriving home and old ladies looking for pearls and whatever earthy stories he could offer to say, "John, he's crazy about you.  Don't ever think God just puts up with you or takes you out of a sense of obligation."

If I start viewing the Father wrong, I don't clean it up with the clarity of a system.  I immerse myself in the story of the Prodigal Son and I can almost smell the barbecue and hear the celebration music.

I thought my dad wouldn't read this blog. It turns out he's more tech-saavy than I had assumed. He sent me this response on Facebook. I cried.

This is Dad writing this response, not Mom. I may even get one of these fancy blog sites myself and communicate with others. Maybe, probably not right away.

I am so proud of all of my children and so blessed with wonderful grandchildren. I honestly believe all of my children are better parents than I was.

John, you have a very special talent God gave you and you are much smarter than I ever was. All of you kids are. Must come from Mom.

Mom and I feel so blessed. We have a great family.

John, don't ever stop writing!

Love, Dad

Perhaps this is all too personal for this blog. Maybe a bit too Hallmark. But someday, years from now, he won't be around. But I printed his response. I don't want to forget what he wrote. One of the greatest gifts he gave us was his willingness to apologize and how easily he said, "I love you." I didn't realize until I got older just how few people ever hear those words from a dad.

I'm real reluctant to add this to the blog.  I'm not a preacher man or anything like that.  So, I have no business with this.  Can you (my small band of readers) let me know if this is something I should include or avoid?

And he said:

"The LORD roars from Zion
and utters his voice from Jerusalem;
the pastures of the shepherds mourn,
and the top of Carmel withers."

Thoughts:
I miss this. I have so often thought of "God of the Universe" and it forces me to think of God in this massive, distant, Deist filter. I so often revolt against the Capitalist Christ donning camoflauge and flanked in red white and blue that I miss the reality that he's here, too.

So, now I see it. It's not that God is being exclusive. It's that the author is. Amos is reminding me, in poetic language, that God utters a voice, that he talks to shepherds, that he connects to Zion. Try as I might to be abstract, God connects to the land. The lie of my upbringing is that I can pull him from the land and toss him into a bulleted point list.

I make it a habit to define myself by defining what I'm not.  I'm a teacher, but I'm not a packet master and I'm not a hang-in-there-kitty-poster guy and I'm not a standardized robot.  I'm a Christian, but I don't run around handing out yellow booklet advertisments for Jesus.  I'm a music lover, but not a music snob.  My Counting Crows CD is evidence of that.

I tend to define elements of fatherhood through a not-that-guy lens.  I'm not an overeager sports dad who will live my dreams vicariously through my sons.  I'm not a controlling husband who expects a clean house when I come home.  I don't want to be an angry dad, so I'm deliberate about apologizing, redirecting and engaging in the world of my sons.

So, this evening, I come home from work, hug my family and immediately change out of my dress clothes and into more casual wear. I'm following a pattern of my own dad and realizing that so much of my identity as a dad comes from defining how I'll be different from him.  (Not that he was mean or abusive or anything.  It's little things like a promise never to do Fantasy Football and a promise to avoid talking about work when I arrive home.)

As I push the boys on the swing set, I start remembering scenes.  Like all the times Dad bought us a Thrifty's ice cream when we went with him to the local hardware store.  Or the times he pushed us down the slide on our swing set.  Or the moments when he told me, almost awkward, that he was proud and that he'd love us even if we ended up homeless and reckless like another family member.

My dad will probably never read this blog.  He's an action-oriented guy.  I'm not sure he reads any blogs and on some level he's probably all the better as a result. But if, for some crazy reason, he does read this: thanks Dad.

i felt like a monster

When I was young, I asked the Sunday School teacher, "If God can do anything, can he sin?  Can he kill himself?" The teacher had no way to answer me.  No explanation of mystery and paradox.  She sent me away.  I spent part of Sunday School in another room, confused, punished for asking questions.

I thought about this incident when watching a disturbing video of the Jonestown Massacre.  Kid my sons' ages were gunned down when they failed to trust their parents who handed them poisonous Kool-Aid. Something deep within associates Kool-Aid with indoctrination.  Just bust through a wall, cry out "Oh Yeah!" and fill up little minds.

I don't want my sons to experience indoctrination.  I don't want them to associate Jesus with bland sugar cookies and watered down Kool-Aid. I have no desire to teach them the Bible through talking vegetables. Still, I choose to keep them in Sunday School and it goes back to a moment a few years back.

A chipper man with a guitar started to sing and Joel folded his hands and politely moved away from the group.  I peeked in to hear the Sunday School teacher say to him, "You're not in trouble. If you don't feel like worshiping God, you can choose that. Sometimes I don't like singing songs in Big Church and I just listen."  She gave him a side hug and it restored my faith in Sunday School.

I used to work at Neighborhood Ministries.  Because it was an "innercity nonprofit," people called me a missionary.  I never cared for the terms, given the overtones of imperialism and ethnocentricism.  Still, when I told  people about the work that I did, church folks would say, "Wow, it's cool to have missionaries who do that kind of work."

I deliberately chose teaching, because I realized that, if I wanted real interaction with low income kids, this was the best vocation.  To me, it's a calling.  Perhaps even a mission, though hopefully without the imperialism (I'm not sure that I'll ever be able to pull myself out of the white, dominant, power culture).  It's interesting, though, how people approach me.

Now that I am doing those same things in a more secular environment, the response I get from people is, "Oh, you're a teacher.  It must be really cool to get the summers off.  I wish I could have a job with so much free time."

We meet in a massive conference room where the guru begins his talk.  He begins with a story of going to the dentist and accidentally using the word novacaine.  The dentist replies, "We haven't used that in years.  I'd probably be out of a job if I still used that."

The speaker peers into our eyes, "Why do we expect dentists to change according to research and our classrooms remain the same?  Have you ever noticed that a hospital from one hundred years ago looks completely different from a hospital now?  Yet, a classroom from one hundred years ago is identical to the ones we have now."

He's an eloquent, persuasive speaker, but he's using the wrong metaphor.  If teaching is a science, yes, it works. If the goal of education is transferring knowledge and correcting ignorance, he might be right again.  I can't completely disagree with the guy.  There is a time and a place for correcting ignorance, conducting research, studying the brain and learning new strategies.

I expect change at the dentist office, but I can think of other metaphors where constant change is disruptive.  I expect home to feel like home and not change at the whim of new pseudoscience.  I expects a cathedral to have stained glass windows and arches and candles.  (Indeed, I cringe at the constant use of PowerPoint in my own church)

For what it's worth, I'd rather have kids exploring a forest and feeling at home than entering a place that feels like a hospital.  I'd rather my classroom feel like a cathedral than a dentist's office.

Photo Credit
Flickr Creative Commons
http://www.flickr.com/photos/comedynose/3174608048/

$12.00 - Print
$4.00 - eBook

Our school is shifting from traditional grades to standards-based grading.  With this comes a major paradigm shift.  We no longer assess a student's work ethic (it's impossible to lose points by not turning work in) but only pure academic achievement. 

At first glance, the standards-based grading represents a new philosophy of grading.  Shouldn't we assess whether students master a standard?  Should we check for growth?  How could we possibly be against this process?  When I first heard about this, I envisioned student-created reflective portfolios combining their qualitative and quantitative feedback.  I imagined projects connected to strands and performance objectives.  To me, it seemed like a step in the right direction.  All too often students work for the sake of extrinsic motivation.  Finally, we were stepping away from arbitrary grades and packets with check marks.

Instead, we use only multiple choice exams.  One exam accounts for sixty percent of the final grade.  I find this odd, because on our lesson plan format they want to see: connects to prior knowledge, differentiated instruction, metacognition, cooperative learning, higher-order thinking and a host of other "best practices." 

While I agree with the list of best practices, it seems strange that ultimately we assess students with none of the best practices: one modality, individually, non-differentiated (entirely standardized), isolated, based upon rote memorization.

Miguel pulls me aside, "It's like you don't believe I'm a bad kid," he says.

"No, not so much," I answer, not feeling like offering a long diatribe about the paradox of human identity and the way in which we're all like broken stained glass windows.

"Most teachers write me off the first few days," he answers and awkwardly stammers out, "Thanks."

Minutes later, a girl asks, "Why do we have to do blogs?"

"Why?"

"I hate these. Your class is boring," she says.

I talk to her about respect and ask her if she'd rephrase it. It's a difficult seventh hour social studies class.

"Everybody hates the class." Here's where I'm supposed to jump in, tell her that she can't continue this, but instead I engage.

"Really, everyone?"

"Yeah, they're all bored. They just won't say it."

I stop the class and say, "Maria just explained that everyone hates this class. They find it boring. They don't like the blogs at all. So, I'm going to have us use textbooks tomorrow."

So, today in class I apologize publically for shaming Maria. She cries. She won't speak to me. She's a shy type. A straight A student. For some reason shame crushes her harder than other kids. Someone once told me that the moment you believe you've got sin under control is when you're most vulnerable.

***

I just recently re-read the story of David and Bathsheba. In one story, he restores his deceased best friend's son. It's the beautiful scene with the guy getting a new name and having a place at the table. In the next story, though, David seduces Bathsheba and kills her husband. Bathsheba is victimized and shamed in the process.

Although I'm not a totalitarian leader of a theocracy, I sometimes forget the power I wield as a teacher. In my best moments, I get to speak life into kids' lives. I get to embody a philosophy of grace. In my darker moments, I shame and take away life.

Tonight, I'm feeling a certain kinship with David.

Note: names are changed to protect student identity

I've only preached once in church. I was overly animated, used the words "uh" too often and made a reference to Ned Flanders that nobody understood. It's not my fault, really. I'm preachy at my worst. I teach when I'm at my best. I belong in the classroom.

When I finished the passage on Job 12, an elder at the church said to me, "all this social justice stuff is pointless in a fallen world. It's like polishing the deck on the Titanic."

I told him, "I see what you mean, but maybe, if we're in the Titanic, we need to face the injustice that the poor people are locked in the bottom cabin while the rich people get cushy lifeboats."

Perhaps the Titanic metaphor worked in a modern age. People believed in progress, in science and the efficiency of human engineering. The world was too big for God. But we already hit the iceberg. If I see anything now, it's that people are lonely, realizing that the Titanic was a myth and it's dark and it's cold and the lifeboats are crashing into one another. If anything, we get to help people recover the connection to the land, to community and to the sense of direction people seem looking for.

Or maybe that's a hollow metaphor, too. Maybe it's not our job to save people. Maybe all the yellow tracts and grand crusades are just an antiseptic form of imperialism. Perhaps all of that turns people into Amway salesmen with cross necklaces.

Maybe people need to fall in love with Jesus and unfortunately, he seems too silent and abstract and the best way for people to feel loved is by being loved. So, maybe we take care of the poor, not so we can save them, but so that we can love them. I practice social justice because I get angry with how friends are treated. I fight for immigration reform, because I teach immigrant students. And, hopefully in the context of love, they'll see Jesus in the mix.

We had a great dialogue the other day about Creative Commons, intellectual property and what exactly does "belong to the public." One of the hardest issues is the concept of mixing and borrowing, especially when information now feels essentially free and creativity is a prime assett on the free market.

What surprises me, though, is how none of my students had ever even heard of Creative Commons or Public Domain and few had heard of copyright. The hardest part for me is that there are so many areas where this conversation could occur. A teacher could bring it up in learning about democracy, the social contract and the Bill of Rights or in economics with capatalism. Language Arts teachers, in exploring the issue of plagiarism could get into Creative Commons and the ethical use of mixing.

Is it that educators are slow to explore this concept? Is it that the topic seems too controversial? Or is it that many educators don't know much about Creative Commons?

Photo Credit

Flickr Creative Commons

http://webpages.scu.edu/ftp/PBoocock/images/Creative%20Commons.gif

Apparently, due to a state budget crisis, we will not have an eighth grade AIMS writing test. If I'm reading the e-mail correctly, our state will assess writing once every two years and in place of the writing exam will be a multiple-choice writing test.

Incidentally, I'm turning all of my life over to multiple choice exams. If you want to talk to me, don't talk. I'll send you a ScanTron and analyze your results. Don't worry, you'll get to chart your own progress on a pretty graph. Oh yeah, and I'll rate you according to your answer.

Maybe you'll someday reach a point where you don't even talk anymore and the introverts will inherit the earth. It will be a world where phones go unanswered and every conversation begins with awkward silence.

Note: In the comment section, you can read my sample questions. Feel free to create your own.

I never get to watch the 49ers play. So, at some point last season I said, "I'll throw my lot in with the home town." Then, I watched the game yesterday, and three plays into it I'm rooting for the red and gold. I was like a teary husband coming home after abandoning his first love. Okay, that was a bit much, but it felt comfortable to sit back and say, "For what's it's worth, I'll always root for the San Francisco teams."

Nothing about this is profound, I realize. It's just that there is some part of my soul that is wired to be faithful . . . or addicted or habitual.

Photo Credit

Flickr Creative Commons

http://www.flickr.com/photos/jmtimages/2877043075/

A group of older, conservative church guys form a circle and engage in deep conversation. It's not about their souls or their relationships or the delicate balance of taking care of a child while pursuing a vocation at work. By the looks of it, I can tell it's either about sports or politics.

So, I eavesdrop for a moment. "It's not the government's job. Look, I feel bad for a guy who can't pay for health care, but don't rob from me to pay the guy. But I think a lot of people getting free health care are lazy."

Another man chimes in, "Yeah, it should be the church not the government who helps the poor. The government screws everything up."

A third man says, "It makes me sick. I didn't fight two wars just to see Obama turn us into a Communist country. By the way, did you see the Glenn Beck rally? Now that guy makes a lot of sense."

I walk away at that point. But here's what I want to say, "If you believe it's the church's job, then do it. Go start a food bank. Go donate to a health clinic. If the church truly dedicated itself to taking care of the poor, the government wouldn't feel the need to step in. Plus, it's not your money. It never was. It belongs to God. Moreover, one of the sages in the OT said, 'but time and chance happen to us all,' which is so true. Your fortune is partially due to your birth, your ethnicity, the timing of your life and the connections you have. In terms of the government screwing things up, last time I checked the government just bailed out private industry when they screwed up. And, Soldier Boy, I'm pretty sure you get a hell of a health care plan and last time I checked it came from my tax money."

Evangelical churches hate romance novels. Perhaps more than they hate gay marriage and Democrats. Part of what I've enjoyed is that my church doesn't tend too focus too much time on those issues. Except, this morning, the pastor went off on a rant about romance novels.

It was real hard for me, because I remember growing up and watching my mom cringe when she heard church ladies make absurd blanket statements about them. They'd claim a romance novel was "porn in print," which, alliteration aside, is untrue. Erotica is porn in print. Romance novels are essentially chick flicks in print.

The women I know who read romance novels choose the genre not out of a sense of dissatisfaction with spouses, but often because they want a quick escape. It's no different than a man enjoying an action movie or a John Grisham novel or Fantasy Football. Often, these women are smart and articulate and read the books with a slight sense of mockery. They know a plot is cliche, but that's part of the fun.

I'm not defending the literary quality of romance novels. To me, they are bad, but for the same reason that I don't like Coors Light or country music or John Grisham novels. I'm a snob, but I sure as hell wouldn't tell someone that they're difference in taste amounts to a sin.

Personally, I find it odd that churches focus on romance novels. I just read Ruth. It's as irritatingly cliche as the worst romance novels. Esther's even worse. Then, there's Song of Solomon, which really is porn in print. Worse still, the couple doesn't even seem to be married in the book. Where it gets even more dangerous is that churches spout out this crap and then Christians internalize it and eventually quit believing romance and sex are good things.

Whenever someone asks how it's going, I offer a canned response. It's a politician answer often accompanied by a politician grin. I say, "I'm doing fine. The kids are great. I really love it at our school." I then offer some anecdote to prove the point. Sometimes I sprinkle in some humor or some student answer that blind-sided me with depth.

It's not that I lie, really, but that I tell people my answer with spin. If you want to know how I'm doing, here's my answer:

I'm tired. I'm doing more administrative-style work than ever before and it's kicking my ass. I'm delivering brand new 20 inch iMacs to teachers who then complain about how these machines will take up space. I am confounded by my own overly idealistic imagination and thus I'm committing to too much and falling behind. I am excited by the creativity to write my own curriculum, but I'm constantly second-guessing my teaching as a result. I have a list of ten different projects that I'd like to do with my class and I need to figure out which two I'll be doing.

Don't get me wrong. I'm having a blast. The students offer amazing answers and I'm amazed at the way they can articulate their beliefs. The staff has been supportive and I really like the leadership. I forgot how fun it is to read Fast Food Nation with students and my thirty minute intervention class is no exception. I have a challenging seventh hour group, but I'm convinced they'll come around.

So, why don't I tell people this honest answer? Why don't I choose transparency? Perhaps it's that teachers, on the whole, like to teach. So, when I offer an honest answer, they almost always go practical on me. "Oh, you're over-committed. What you need is one of those ginormous desk calendars and color-code it." Or it gets twisted into gossip. "You know, John's having a really tough time with his seventh hour."

The hard part is this: transparency draws people in. Transparency is what enables trust. If I can be myself, I can be vulnerable. When I am vulnerable, trusted friends walk with me.

So, here's where it's confusing. Why is it that I'm more transparent in a blog than in the staff lounge at lunchtime?

photo credit

but this almost made me cry

not sure why, but it did, really

Many of my fellow teachers seemed to gush over Obama's speech, but I was a little dissapointed. Don't get me wrong. It was better than "Is our children learning?" Regardless of one's political leanings, it's fun to have an articulate president. Honestly, I noticed students connecting well to his personal story. Overall, though, I found it too tame. One kid nailed it, "I know he didn't want to be controversial. However, in trying to avoid controversy, he avoided telling us anything that we didn't know. So, I liked his story, but I was bored with the moralizing lecture afterward. If he wants us to stay in school, give us some compelling reasons."

I'm not sure how it would have worked out better:

"I will now launch into a lecture on Keynesian Economics. If you don't know what I'm saying, you should probably stay in school"

or perhaps

"Let me level with you, kids. A lot of what you learn is crap. You'll learn about imaginary numbers. Your textbooks will have lies. But if you can think well, you'll learn how to decipher between the smell of crap and flowers and in the process, that will be your education. So, nod your head. Play the game. Get the diploma and in the process, learn to live well."

or maybe

"With hard work, a good education, charm and a photogenic smile, you can be whatever you want to be."

or perhaps

"I know many people have christened me as the messiah, but I'm hear to tell you this. My teardrops don't cure leprosy. I don't work miracles. I got to this place by working my ass off in school while kids secretly called me a nerd behind my back. But here's the deal: blessed are the nerds, for they shall run the country. Now I've got two loaves of bread and I'm going to spread it around a few thousand people. But first, check out me walking on water."

Bottom line is this: I couldn't beat his speech if I tried. True, it was a soft ball. Sure, it was a bit trite. Kids seemed a bit bored after awhile. However, it wasn't the indoctrinating political rant that the conservatives claimed it would be. It was a standard talk about hard work and individual responsibility and school as the magic ticket to a better job - as American as apple pie and baseball and jacking land from Indians.

So for now, I'll be a teacher and not a president. Today I learned that I would be a piss poor politician and Obama would be a dull teacher. I won't tell his administration how to handle foreign policy and I'm hoping that they can learn how to avoid telling me how to run my classroom.

Awhile back, I quit Facebook. Then, we had some family members and friends of our family go through traumatic events. Facebook was the only connecting point. It made me realize that going Neo-Luddite sounds great in principal, but the relational cost can be greater than I had previously imagined. So, for awhile I've been back.

I mention this, because I'd love for some of my blog readers to befriend me on Facebook. The good news is that I do less self-censoring. (My current status update is one that I'd be a little reluctant to post on this blog).

I'm pretty sure my URL is
http://www.facebook.com/johntspencer

If you see a spikey-haired guy with an overly cheesy grin, it's me. If not, let me know and I'll change the link.

This is the only time I'm going to plug it. I'm really not much for self-promotion. But here it is - my book is already available on CreateSpace but not yet on Amazon.com (should be available shortly). Here's the link: https://www.createspace.com/Customer/EStore.do?id=3394695

I find it interesting that Americans seem more concerned with Obama's speech to students than they are about the educational policies of the current and previous administration. People have sent me e-mails about the "indoctrination" and "brainwashing" of the speech. Brainwashing? No. Indoctrination? Perhaps, but certainly no worse than the lies they read in their state-mandated textbooks.

I, for my part, will follow my district's directive and have the students watch it. They'll analyze facts vs. opinions, find elements of bias, loaded language and propaganda. They'll also find five ways he used logic in persuasion (so it's not all critical) They'll finish it with a two paragraph analysis (from both the pro and con side) on whether the executive branch of the Federal government should make education policy decisions on local schools. It's the same assignment I did with the last president, who brilliantly asked, "Is our children learning?"

For a bonus assignment, I might allow them to answer our discussion question of "Who owns our school? Whose voice counts? Whose voice should count?"

Photo Credit

Flickr Creative Commons

http://www.flickr.com/photos/ari/2238969281/

Print Version

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At first, the task feels a bit daunting. You see the document camera inside a strange bubble-wrapped cocoon, as if a strange race of alien androids were slowly taking over the classroom via paper boxes. Slowly, though, you come to understand that it's simply another tool for the classroom. But how do you put it together?

Step One: Make sure you already have a blue VGA chord and a white connector (also a VGA chord) for the computer. See Mr. Spencer if you need one.

Step Two: Take it out of the box. Go through all the sheets of plastic, the bizarre bubble wrap and take out the various wires. It's less complicated than it looks.

Step Three
Hook the blue and the black VGA chords to the doc camera



Step Four: Pull the "head" of the document camera out.


Step Five: Plug the document camera into the wall (see below for a visual on how the two parts fit together)

Step Six Hook the white VGA chord to the black one and connect to the computer. So now your computer should be hooked up to the document camera.



Step Seven: Hook the blue VGA chord up to the wall. Now your document camera should be hooked up to your computer (see step above) and the wall. So, the wall, the computer and the document camera are all interconnected.

Step Eight: It should work now. If you look below, you'll see a "source" button. Push that to alternate between the computer (listed on the doc camera as PC even though it's a Mac) and camera. The "playback" button allows you to look back at previous doc cam sessions.

Some of my favorite bloggers remain anonymous. I enjoy Brazen Teacher and It's Not All Flowers and Sausages. I understand the value of privacy and anonymity. It's why I don't have pictures of my sons and why I don't write about sex and why I'm careful never to attack an individual person (choosing systems and ideas instead). Despite this reality, I remain public and transparent in my blog.

I have two fairly lame reasons I don't choose to be anonymous. First, I need it to protect me. I need transparency, because I have a wild imagination and anonymity would make it easier for me to lie and easier to self-protect. I would also be meaner. I'd betray confidences and just change a few names. My blog would become a game of pretend - and the game would turn mean quickly.

My other reason is equally lame. I like to be known. I like to be recognized. I like people to like me. On some level, I never grew out of the pain of being picked last in dodge ball and on some level, I write my blog with this little voice inside saying, "Ooh, pick me. Pick me."

If there is any redemption in my lack of anonymity, it is this: I can be myself. For what it's worth, the John Spencer of the blog is the same John Spencer at home and the same John Spencer in the staff lounge - quirky, creative, a little longwinded, a perpetual chair-tipper, a rebel without a clue, a wanderer, a hard worker with an intense desire for authenticity.

I'm not suggesting that online anonymity is a bad thing. Some people pull it off really well. For me, though, remaining anonymous would have been disastrous.

You can download the podcast at
http://www.archive.org/details/AShortRantAboutEnglishTeachers

or you can listen below

I popped in the Hayden Desser's In Field and Town cd for the first time in a month. Don't get me wrong, it's not that I placed Hayden on a deliberate sabbatical. It's just that I've been listening to the Sufjan Steven's Illinoise album and I've been on a bit of an Iron and Wine kick as well.

I admit that I have no business writing about music. I've never learned to play the acoustic guitar; something that even the most pasty-white suburban church kids seem to master. Perhaps that's why I love music so much. Like a two year old that wants to dance, I go, "my God, I have no idea how George Harrison makes his guitar gently weep, but it's blowing me away." I like complexity and simplicity. I love the intricate, intelligent, allusion-filled lyricism of "Come On! Feel the Illinoise!" and the sad depth of "Romulus" or "The Predatory Wasp of the Palisades."

Listening to In Field and Town is a bit like meeting my friend Paul after a year or two of being away. It's quiet and awkward and sparse at first and just as I'm about to say, "So, why are we friends?" I catch a glimpse of depth. After awhile, I lose myself in the conversation and we're talking until twelve a.m. and we miss the fact that the parking lot is empty and the baristas have long since closed shop. It's always in "The Van Song" that I realize, "Man, I really like Hayden's music." Next thing I know, the album's over and I've graded a fat stack of papers.

I mention this, because I'm always dissapointed in teaching at first. Don't get me wrong, I love it. I know it's meanigful and important and all of that. It's just that in the mess of learning names and filling out papers and organizing tech inventories, I start to think, "Maybe this doesn't fit."

This year it hit two days ago. The kids created amazing metaphors of technology and I kept thinking, "Man, technology really is a backseat driving dictating what we should do." Or, yesterday a girl said, "Impact is like the Wake-Up Club, except there's a big difference. They believe in serving the community by making people law-abiding citizens and we're about social justice. There's a difference, right?" Or, today, we get into a deep discussion when I cover a history class and we talk about Shay's Rebellion and the whether Washington was a hypocrite for believing in freedom and violence at one time and not another. The whole time, this kid is talking and being disruptive and I think, "Man, I'd like to have him in my class, because there are moments when he seems to care, but he lacks impulse control."

So, I've hit that "Van Song" point where I can say, "I really do love teaching."

Photo Credit

Flickr Creative Commons

http://www.flickr.com/photos/sarae/2893952739/

photo credit - flickr creative commons

and if so, is it accurate?

So, I allowed the students to create their Metaphor of Technology a day early if they had finished their first Social Voice article. To me, metaphors capture what a child thinks about an abstract concept in a way that I can't get in a concept map or an essay.

My favorite thus far:

"Technology is a Horcrux. It will make you feel immortal. You'll be in two places at once, but in the process you'll lose your soul. But it's too late. We've all submitted to the dark magic."

I'm not sure that's what JK Rowling was looking for, but I love it.



Photo Credit: Wikimedia Commons

Over the course of the 2009 summer, I started a blog called TV and Teaching.  I later incorporated that blog into this blog.  The idea was view the teaching profession through the lens of the small screen.  I am not particularly fond of television, but I also see that my lack of fondness can be out of intellectual snobbery as much as anything else.

So, the blog is all about television as a metaphor of teaching . . . or rather television shows as metaphors of teaching.

Here the are.

I recently read this in an e-mail. It's from someone in the corporate sector who has no idea what it's like to be a teacher:

It's Back to School time! I don't have any kiddos, but it's hard to miss the Back to School season...watching folks walk the isles of Target with their "lists", seeing all the "1st day of school" pics on Facebook, and hearing my teacher friends sadly talk about their summer coming to an end. I usually have a moment of empathy, but it is a short moment as I remember that most of the world (specifically ME) doesn't get a 2 month vacation. Do you know what a great tan I would have if I had 2 months to lounge by the pool?

Now, I'm under no illusion that teachers work harder than the rest of society. I don't see teachers as a bunch of schoolhouse saints whose iconic images belong on dollar store candles. My brother works in corporate sales and puts in fifty hour weeks, which is about the average amount that a teacher works. True, he earns more, but it's supply and demand and he knows it. He's under no illusion that his paycheck is a reflection of who works hardest. Otherwise, migrant workers would be millionaires and he and I would be forced to apply for Section 8 housing.

What bothers me about the e-mail is that it doesn't match my reality. First, the summer has shrunk from 3 months to about six weeks. Within the six weeks, they usually require an unpaid, mandatory two week professional development, leaving me with a month. If I want to earn a living wage, I have to get a master's degree. So, now I'm paying money to do work (albeit fun work). I also plan lessons, develop units, work on a curriculum map, gather resources, decorate my classroom and organize supplies. So, I'd say I go from ten hour workdays down to six hour workdays.

I don't hate it. I don't even resent it. I like to work and I have to admit that there is more leisure in the summer. I get a chance to be with my sons and I can work on things at a slightly slower pace. However, when push comes to shove, the month-long vacation is, at best, two weeks - which happens to be exactly the same amount that my friends in the "business world" get. So, in six summers so far, I have not spent a single day lounging by the pool working on a tan, which is okay, because I really don't want to have skin cancer.