I work hard as a teacher and I believe in the notion that "there are no shortcuts." Yet, I have also found that often "less is more." Trite, perhaps, but true nonetheless. I call it the Impact Paradox. It's the idea that I have more of an impact as a teacher when I am trying less hard at having an impact. For example, when I focus on behaviors, kids misbehave. But when I focus less on behavior and instead of quality teaching, the behaviors improve. When I try really hard to impact my students' lives, I drive them away. Yet, when I simply show compassion, I end up making a difference.

I'm guessing it's nothing all that deep or new. It's a bit like The Paradox of Choice on some level. Nothing is new under the sun.

So, here are a few areas that I've seen the Impact Paradox play out:

1. Assessment: Too much data too frequently gets in the way of the important trends. It's better to create assignments that lend toward both qualitative and quantitative assessment of mastery. Learning when to step in and when to let students make mistakes (for self-reflection and growth) is difficult.
2. Procedures: Yes, I do believe in procedures, but I keep them simple and flexible. The more I try and have huge procedures, the more it turns into red tape. I'd also like to point  out that I spend less and less class time on procedures and see greater results.
3. Student Work: I've found that fewer, more difficult assignments are more effective than adding sheer volume to a student's workload. (I've switched to projects, by the way). One deep critical thinking question is more significant than five comprehension questions.
4. Creativity: The harder I try to be creative, the less creative I become. (With this, I'd also like to point out that to be creative, I have to destroy)
5. Classroom Leadership: The less I try and coerce (the more you try and serve) the more I am able to lead. Humility is more powerful than power.
6. Authenticity: The more transparent I am, the harder it is for people to see right through me. The less transparent I am, the easier it is to be "found out"
7. Service Learning: If I go out to "change the community" I will fail. If I go out to serve the community, I will transform it.
8. Tools: Fewer tools force me to be more creative.
9. Global Perspective: The best way for students to get the "big picture" globally is to think parochially
10. Differentiation: The more I try to "differentiate" the harder it becomes. Yet, the more I empower students to make their own educational decisions, the more the true differentiation occurs. (My guess is that one would anger the most people)
11. Clarity: I admit this one might be the strangest, but sometimes being "less clear" means more discovery.  Sometimes kids understand concepts on a deeper level when it is deliberately complex. When I break things down too much, I fail to allow them to break down the task on their own. (My favorite teacher told deliberately confusing parables)
12. Achievement: The more I de-emphasize achievement, the more students feel safe to fail and therefore take risks and find success.  
13. Innovation: The more we try to be "innovative" the more we become simply novel.  Yet, oddly enough some of the most "classic" ideas are the most innovative to the culture.
14. Tech Skills: I've noticed that the less I teach discreet skills (focus on tech literacy instead) the more students actually learn the necessary skills. This might actually apply to all skills for that matter.  

I have other areas of teaching where this is true as well. I suppose it might sound real Zen to some people (I'm not that Eastern in my thinking - or perhaps I am both Eastern and Western, which I suppose is a real Eastern thought. Or maybe, just maybe, I'm human enough to be both/and and either/or)

happy arbitrary beginning based upon a eurocentric model -- for me the true new year is the start of a school year

I used to spend all day working out a system of goals.  It looked impressive on paper, if bordering on OCD.  I set up mini-compartments: spiritual, physical, vocational, relational, intellectual, emotional and spiritual.  For each one, I would have a "key concept" answering the question "What really matters?"

Next, I would create three goals for each area.  The goal had to be measurable and time-bound.  So, for example, in "relational," I might write something like "Carve out at least one morning a week to spend time with a friend."  In spiritual, it might be something like, "Read through the entire Bible in the year" and in physical it might be, "Run at least 25 miles per week."

It's not that the system failed.  It worked in that "Seven Habits of Highly Self-Important People" kind of way.  I accomplished more.  I read the entire Bible and all of Les Mis and Lolita and I watched at least one foreign film a month.  I memorized verses of the Bible and a few Shakespearean sonnets.  I deliberately exposed myself to at least one new album a month.

I could have written a book about the balanced life and treated my special categories as if they were sections of the food pyramid.  But here's what happened: I learned to hate the Bible.  I spent the next year after never wanting to read it again.  I learned to "disconnect" while running and almost lost that feeling of floating on air that I crave on a long run.  I came close to viewing people as projects.  I began to feel real snobby about my tastes in music and only sheepishly admitted to owning Elton John's Goodbye Yellow Brick Road album.

Spreadsheets and prisons both have cells.  I suppose the body does, too.  But for what it's worth, my life started to feel more like a prison than a living, breathing organism.  I eventually came to a point where I had to realize that my identity is more than my accomplishments and self-help is like a really bad remodel based mostly upon duct tape.

So, I started to set up random New Year's Resolutions that included ideas like, "I Won't Commit Genocide" or "I want to get more comfortable giving people hugs.  The world needs them and I shouldn't let my introverted nature get in the way."  Then, to stay grounded, I'd add one like "Run for Governor" or "Discover the Cure for All Ailments."  

So, here are my resolutions:

1. I will draw "graven images" about life and on occasion I will post them to this blog. 
2. I will remind myself that writing is about the process and not the result (see last post)
3. I will be intentional about learning from my own children. 
4. I will discover a previously unknown view of cosmology to replace string theories and I will use an even more absurd metaphor - perhaps the Microwavable Play-Dough Theory (involving radiation and explosions).
5. I will spend a week in my own city as a tourist, wearing a fanny pack and a picture of a coyote (the kind that howls and not the kind that smuggles immigrants) and eating Kettle Korn.  I might even cop a fake Minnesota accent in the process. 

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I cringe every time I watch Planes, Trains and Automobiles, because on some level I feel like I'm way too much like the John Candy character.  I talk too much.  (Once this year a teacher told me at lunch time that I "never shut up" and I think she meant it as a joke, but I spent a week eating lunch by myself, drawing pictures and grading papers).

I'm the kid who struck out in the ninth inning.  Every time.  I'm the one who couldn't make the cut on the basketball team.  I hated junior high and I hated high school, because it was a daily reminder that life for me was like trying to play Tetris drunk and I just couldn't fit the pieces together.

I know that there is supposed to be redemption that occurs in the movie, but it seems to me that, at the end, the most John Candy gets is sympathy.  It's not sympathy I want.  It's some vague sense of validation. I need to point out where this comes from:

• I lost my classes at the second half of the day.  I know it's not personal (it has to do with number distributions throughout the district), but I feel lost right now.  I've been doing administrative tasks after lunch and it's killing me.  It feels that, if I mattered as a teacher, I'd have a classroom full of students. 
• I got rejected by a publisher.  My mentor Brad told me that I should try and get Sages and Lunatics published.  While I've sold a decent number of copies going the self-published route, it's depressing that no publishers want it.  To those of you read a copy, I really appreciate it.  I'm honored that someone wants to hang out with strike-out boy. 

I know that it's not personal and I know that I can't control factors like the beliefs of a publisher or the organizational structure of a district.

Still, I'm down about this and I'm feeling like I need to reconsider if people even need to hear what I think.  I'm questioning the purpose of this blog and the purpose of writing a book and wondering if I need to withdrawal a bit. In the end, I know I won't quit.  I haven't gone a day in the last twenty years without writing.  It's a hobby and I'm an amateur and that's probably the best way for it to be.

In the long run, I'll get over this mental cycle, because I believe my identity doesn't come from numbers of followers or publishing rejection letters or even my career.  Ultimately, my identity is in Christ and that is what shapes  how I view my world.

What if the Greeks have something relevant to say and we miss them because we assume that old means archaic?

I don't pretend to know the difference between mythology and legend and simple story-telling.   I know that the Greeks considered it all part of their canon and I know I lost a great deal of respect for Plato when he suggested that fiction had no place in the Republic. 

I hated the stories of Greek gods when I was a child.  The stories were illustrated with a style of art that were vaguely reminiscent of "Jehovah's Witness" illustrations.  Or we looked at naked people on pottery.  Then we answered comprehension questions.  Incidentally, I loved superhero stories and had no idea that they were simply the American retelling of the Greeks myths and legends.  

I fell in love with Greek writing in community college when Dr. Calhoun spoke about the stories with the same fervor as an excited evangelist.  But not the greasy, slick-haired televangelists.  Instead, we talked about the stories in a way that eventually changed how I teach. The following is a short description of some of the stories and how they shaped my approach to teaching:

1. Icarus - When we obsess about achievement, set kids on islands and then create Elmer's glue wings for them, a simple warning not to "push toward the sun" seems irresponsible.  When we ignore the meaning of the myth and tell kids to "reach for the stars" we're in even more dangerous waters.  
2. Sisyphus - I cannot fix the broken system.  I cannot make things work that will never work.  The system is set up for Sisyphus, with teachers being asked to push the rock of novel reforms back and forth.  So, behaviorism didn't work.  We'll push back the rock and this time call it "traditional schools." 
3. Atlas - It's not my job to change the world.  It's not my job to mend broken lives.  I don't agree with the solution of Atlas Shrugged. Selfish objectivism isn't the answer.  Instead, I want to live among the earth, within community, engaging in a dialog with my students.  I go to the Atlas story every time I start trying to play savior with my students. 
4. Sirens - We're kidding ourselves when we believe music is neutral.  The Greeks understood the notion of sirens and for me, I'll apply it to all media.  There is a dangerous intoxication that happens when I hear a ton of technocratic hype about 21st Century Learning.  The warning about sirens has helped me to criticize each medium I use.
5. Trojan Horse - More resources sounds great.  Free help sounds nice.  But I'm not fooled by Odysseus in a shirt and tie. Sometimes it's best to keep the walls up and protect students minds from those who wish to kill learning for the sake of money.
6. Prometheus - Much like Sirens, the story of Prometheus is why I am careful about implementing new technology. It's why I am able to see that technology is not a tool.  It's fire and fate might very well dictate that we are stuck perpetually eating out our insides as a result. 
7. Hydra - Changes can be great, but they can create their own new issues when I try and hack at all the problems with sheer power. 
8. Achilles - I'm arrogant, way too arrogant.  Sometimes I'll hit a point where lessons are going really smoothly and the class is great and I'll forget how easy it is to toss an arrow at my heel. 
9. Jason - I could just as easily look at the story of Atreus and Thyestes.  But what the story speaks to me is the reality of retaliation and the danger of not pursuing reconciliation.  Staff can be mean to one another.  Kids can be awful to teachers.  Yet, this story reminds me of the sometimes deadly consequences of broken relationships.  If I get so stuck on justice, I'll miss the need for forgiveness. 
10. Theseus - This story reminds me of the need for courage (a sword) and wisdom (the string) in how I teach. I'm not sure there are minotaurs, but the system can be a monster and I can easily find myself lost in a labyrinth.  

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Does the world's greatest superhero celebrate Boxing Day? No, but Captain Canuck does!

According to Feedburner, I consistently have about twenty Canadian readers.  To whoever is up in the beautiful icy wasteland, thanks for reading. (It's about eighteen degrees Celsius here.  If you want to know why we never switched to metric, it's that word.  It took Americans years to figure out how to spell Fahrenheit and Celsius is just too hard to spell for a nation hooked on phonics)

So, Happy Belated Boxing Day.  I deliberately posted it that way for the sake of alliteration.  I'm still trying to get a sense of what the holiday is about. Sadly, it has nothing to do with beating each other with puffy gloves.  That's more of a dysfunctional Christmas concept found more often in America than a British holiday celebrated in Canada.

According to Wikipedia it's a day for the gentry to have cold cuts and give servants the day off.  It's sort-of the opposite of the American Boss's Day, I suppose (the most crooked and despised of all Hallmark Holidays).  What I couldn't figure out is if shops and restaurants are open.  If so, wouldn't that defeat the initial intention of giving the working class a day off after Christmas?

So hooray for cold cuts and Canada and Captain Canuck!

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It's easy to confuse accuracy for truth, efficiency for effectiveness and novelty for innovation.  Case in point: an hour glass is less effective than an atomic clock, but more effective than a sun dial.  Yet, the medium itself manipulates people either way.  If I set a stick in the ground, I might not have the minutes entirely accurate, but I at least remember that time connects to the earth.  When looking at a sun dial, I can see the reality that 4:00 in Texas might be 4:00 in Alabama, but that, in reality, they are nowhere near the same. Time zones are just as inaccurate as sun dials - just in a different way.

If I look at an hour glass, I might not have a precise counter for minutes, but I am able to see that time is finite and that, in the end, it goes by slower.  A lie of the digital clock is that time is eternal.  The numbers 12:35 can't remind me that I'll never have this hour back.

***

My brother-in-law won't buy an e-reader, because he wants to see progress.  "I want to know where I am in a book.  Not by a page number, but by the feel of it in my hands.  I want to feel the pages turn."  True, reading is a mental exercise, but it is still temporal.

E-readers are inevitable, if for no other reason, than for the issue of economy.  I imagine people lamented the death of calligraphy and the lack of continuity one had experienced in scrolls. Medieval Philosophers might have pointed out that people choose words less carefully when they are so economical. They might have complained about the dehumanizing nature replacing a scribe with a machine. Still, Luther could launch a Reformation cheaper with Guttenberg-inspired propaganda.

***

I read two really elitist blog posts recently.  The first was from a man angry about the death of typeface and the acceptance of Comic Sans.  I hate Comic Sans and believe that Ariel Bold is best for warning signs and Georgia works well for books and Helvetica always feels slick and yet . . . something about the anger over font type felt a little superfluous. The second blog was by a writer who says that he'll never buy a book that began as a blog, because it is sacrilegious to true authors.

Intellectuals hated the novel as an initial format.  They mocked the magazine as well.  Anything investigatory was deemed as "yellow journalism" (and much of it was).  And yet now intellectuals lament the loss of the daily paper and the death of the magazine.  The same type of people who once complained about type-writers replacing pen and ink are now growing nostalgic toward their old Smith Coronas.

***

I don't deny that we lose something and gain something when we change technology.  Sometimes it is a Faustian exchange.  Sometimes it is a bargain.  Most of the times, it's a little of both.  I get my electricity from the same technology that can blow the entire earth up multiple times.  It's mixed. And on most days, when I push a button I'm forgetting that global annihilation is also the push of a button away.

So, that leaves me with the question about what to reject and what to accept.  I still do not own a cell phone, but I'm tapping away at my laptop.  I refuse to get cable, but I still own a car.  Where do e-readers come into play?  I have enough money in gift cards to buy a Nook and I'm seriously considering it.  Yet, there is a part of me that relates to my brother-in-law (who is far from elitist) and that sees the concerns (albeit elitist in nature) from the intellectuals as equally valid.

I'll be releasing a few e-books for free within the next month.  A part of me thinks about someone holding a black and white screen and pushing buttons and honestly, it doesn't feel the same. I'm not sure why, but I'd like to imagine people flipping pages and staining their books with coffee rings and perhaps, every once in awhile, underlining a paragraph or two.

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Sometimes I become stereotypical in trying not to be stereotypical. I relish in the notion that my Legion of Piss Poor Scholars can often out-think the honor's crowd. But then, I'll get a kid (sometimes gregarious, sometimes shy, sometimes camoflauged as "average") from the honor's group who will force me to confront my own prejudice.

At the beginning of my computer class, I offer the students a fill-in-the-blank response to some philosophical questions. It becomes the impetus toward discussions on how we define truth and reality in a digital-shaped, image-overload environment.

She answers the question:
Truth is ________________

Nothing.

I'm surprised that a straight-A student refuses to do her Bell Work.

"What did you mean by this?" I ask her.

"I can't define truth. I haven't figured it out in thirteen years and I don't think I'll get it out in ten minutes, either. Truth just is, you know?"

"Like it's self-evident."

"What's that?"

"Self-evident means it's self-existent. It means it stands alone."

"Yeah, like you can't define it. It's the beginning of everything else that you define. Logic and feeling aren't the beginning of truth. They're the result of it."

***

I've been reading angry blogs lately. People seem pissed-off that their kids don't like Shakespeare or won't do packets of homework or begin the third grade at a first grade reading level. I'm not sure that a good teacher can motivate every student. The issues are more complicated than I can comprehend. Yet, I do know that if an entire class hates the subject then a teacher needs to do a little bit of self-reflecting.

Making a subject challenging just for the sake of high expectations does little to inspire. Neither do threats and letters and phone calls.  Create a safe place where meaningful learning happens and students will shock even the most "open minded" teachers.

The power of history is the ongoing, multi-millennial narrative and the power of social studies is in the issues of society and how they define us and the power of biology is life and death. English is powerful because of the call of stories and the almost magical way in which we enter the literary world or in the subtleties of logic and persuasion. Case in point - Macbeth is powerful, not because of iambic pentameter, but because of the warnings of ambition. Reach for the stars my ass!

Students are deep if teachers are paying attention. Sometimes I forget to pay attention, though. I get into my prejudice, my expectations and my self-fulfilling prophecies about what students can and can't think and I miss it. I focus on the banality (and trust me, it exists) and I fail to see the beauty that happens on a daily basis.

One of the hardest parts of writing a blog is knowing that even though it is "permanent," each blog post has a shelf life of roughly two weeks.  It doesn't bother me most of the time.  However, I'd sometimes like my ideas to be a little more enduring.

I'm trying to consider what to do with old blog posts and one of the ideas is to rework them into a book.  I'm thinking of releasing a free e-book and self-publishing the book at-cost. Here are my ideas of what I could release:

• Beyond Bribes: From Managing a Class to Leading Students (a personal and practical work on what it means to lead with humility and authenticity)
• A TV's Guide to the First Year of Teaching (a rework of the summer series I did)
• Unvarnished: Musings from a Not-So-Master Teacher (a collection of my favorite blog posts expanded into mini-essays)

Incidentally, I am also going to send some book proposals to publishers.  The two that I'm sending out are:

• A Book on the Paradox of Teaching
• A Book on Technology

I remember seeing this comic strip and thinking that "educational theory" had to be on the further left.  It seems that the more "applied" or "human" a scientific endeavor is, the closer one gets to social engineering.  (Social Darwinism, Scientific Racism).  I'm not against teaching-as-a-science if it means inquiry, observation and shared conclusions.  But if it's simply analyzing test scores, it's about as useful to me as phrenology and alchemy.

Doyle the Science Teacher recently posted an xkcd comic strip and it got me thinking about what we choose to share and what we choose to sell. It strikes me that the world's best comic writer creates more strips of better quality than anyone else I've seen. He also licenses his work as a Creative Commons. I don't mind people making money doing what they love. But the minute you become convinced that you are "paid to do" something rather than "paid so that you can" do something you make yourself a commodity and this comes with some costs:

1. You are less likely to take chances. I'm not sure why this is, but I've seen people who took risks when they were doing something "for the love of it," and then start creating surveys and data and analyzing trends when it became an issue of money-making.
2. You are more likely to cut corners. The Google Guys had a vision for re-organizing how people access information (yes, they are a huge ad agency, a Clear Channel of the internet, but it seems to me that the founders were more psyched about search than dollars).  They understood that passion and vision weren't simply buzzwords for business conferences, but an absolute necessity for creative endeavors.  It's no accident that they provide workers with 20% free time for independent projects.
3. You spend more time on PR and ass-kissing to ensure that you move up an imaginary ladder.
4. You hold back your good stuff with the hopes that it will pay off in an investment later on. Thus good bloggers get book deals and then save their best stuff for books and great speakers quit doing interviews and save it for keynote addresses. Musicians deliberately leave songs out of albums, knowing that they have to "pace themselves."
5. You no longer collaborate and share. Instead of being transparent with people, you end up fearing them and their potential to take credit for your ideas.
6. You grow discontent with your job, because everything you do is filtered through the question, "Am I paid enough to do this?"
7. You give up easier. The constant pressure to perform feeds on natural insecurities and this can mean you say, "Screw it, this isn't worth it." Sometimes I wonder if Salinger would have been better off he had written for years and wasn't published until he was in his fifties.

I have a hunch that the quality xkcd continues to endure because the artist shares.


I am not paid to teach.  I am paid so that I can teach.  This doesn't mean that I don't believe in days off or decent pay.  Let me take care of my family, please.  But my work would be worse if they started handing me incentive packets and trying to bait me into a teaching to a test so that I can get a bigger bonus. I have fun and take risks and share with others, because I feel like my job is a gift.  


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Today isn't the birthday of Jesus.  Any historian with open eyes can tell you that.  It's the winter solstice; a time when the tilt seems to wane so much that we believe, on a very visceral level, that all is broken and dying.  Even here in the desert, I can see my breath in front of my face, as though the earth herself was pulling the life out of me.  It's a time when every culture grasps for its mythology, searching for answers, thinking about death.

I believe in Jesus.  It's the story I search in my attempt to make sense out of the universe.  I spent two years reading sacred books and critical histories until I believed I had made a rational decision. But I'd be a fool to pretend that my belief isn't at least to some extent a product of my geography.  In another age in another continent, I'd be celebrating the story of Isis or Odin or reading a story out of the Popul Vuh and I'm sure I'd have a litany of reasons to believe those stories, too.

I believe the Jesus story was meant for everyone.  The magi  (I'm guessing there were more than three) never saw the baby, but pieced together the God-with-us story through the stars.  The outcasts got it. (So did a few of the religious folk, too.) I'm guessing the shepherds probably hoped for someone a little more political.  Or not.  But they sensed that the baby was on the side of the poor. I wonder how much doubt they had and how much faith they had and I wonder if they were ever told the lie that doubt is the opposite of faith.

I looked at Brenna this morning.  She smiled at me. I raised my eyebrows and she raised hers.  I opened my mouth and she made a gurgling sound.  I still think she's a miracle.  I know the science of it, but I'm under no illusion that I was the one who created her.  And I'm still convinced that most atheists become at least a little agnostic when they hold a baby.  It's not hard to see God in a child.

Books and poems and narratives are all powerful.  Speeches can mobilize a crowd.  Songs can speak to the soul. But I'm convinced that nonverbal communication is still more powerful.  When someone dies and the solstice story feels too powerful, a hug will always win out over Shakespeare.

God entered the world in silence.

The words he chose were a warm embrace.

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Joel: I'm going to throw it higher so that I can win.

Me: Throw it as high as you can.

Joel: Do you know why people want to win?

Me: Why's that, Joel?

Joel: So they can feel better than everyone else.

Minutes later we're playing baseball. 

Joel: Daddy, that was a bad throw, but I still love you.  Even when you don't throw it right, I still love you. 

***

Joel: What are these kind of pants called?

Me: They're called sweat pants.

Joel: Ooh, they feel like being in a blanket when you're standing up.  

A few minutes later:

Joel: I think all pants should be sweat pants all the time. 

***

Me: Joel, you can't wear Navy blue and black together. 

Joel: Why?

Me: You're just not supposed to.

Joel: Why?

Me: They say you're not supposed to?

Joel: Who is they?

Me: I don't know. 

Joel: Why are you listening to them if you don't know them?

***

Joel: Why do some people get mad when you say Happy Holidays instead of Merry Christmas?

Me: I'm not sure. I guess it upsets them that people forget it's Christmastime. 

Joel: But it doesn't hurt anyone if there are more holidays, right?

Me: I guess so. I guess some people don't like to share. 

Joel: Okay. Why don't they just say Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays?

Me: That would upset people who don't celebrate Christmas?

Joel: People don't celebrate Christmas? But that's the best day of the year! It's the best day in the whole universe!

so the wrapper around the cheese was actually part of the cheese - who knew? 

I'm a populist of sorts, a "small d" democrat who believes that knowledge and wisdom and art and culture should be accessible to all.  I don't believing in talking down to people and I don't believe in talking up to them either.  For what it's worth, I believe that "search" and "peruse" are both great words that one should use based upon the clarity of language. My sons will hear "holy crap" and "superfluous" and I don't buy into the notion that one is better than the other.

I hate hierarchies. It's why I believe the janitor is as influential as superintendent and why I could never be Catholic and why I'll never use "because I said so" with my students or my own children. On the darker side, it's why I can grow cynical and critical and begin to see myself as above "the system" or worse still above those I see as incompetent.

I mention this, because I was at a Christmas party last night and felt unsophisticated.  I referred to the wine as "yellow" and I had to study those around me to see how to hold a glass.  I prefer a pint. I like an unfiltered wheat, but I can't keep my beer straight and so I don't know the difference between a stout and an ale.  I just know that Guinness might be as thick as a milkshake, but it tastes like liquid happiness.

When the subject switches to travel, I have to use secondhand knowledge from Brad the Philosopher.  They start discussing the rule-following aspect of German culture and I realize that I'm telling someone else's stories.  I move to my area of expertise and say, "Sure it's clean and the rule-following might be fun, but that's the secret behind the Holocaust.  It was the most antiseptic way to kill millions.  No machetes.  Just smokestacks in the far corners of the suburbs."

Apparently that's not the best thing to hear at a cocktail party, because the conversation quickly shifts to the cathedrals and the architecture and personal narratives about travelling Europe. So I sneak away to a safer zone of cheese and crackers, but somebody has to explain to me why Brie cheese is not supposed to be unwrapped.  I imagine that there is a shooting star and the words "The More You Know" above my head. I'm a walking after-school special.

It's not that the guests are snobby, either.  (One of the guys loves the band Judas Priest - not exactly elitist there) I know most of them on a pretty deep, authentic level and I respect the fact that they are patient with me as I stumble through each social faux pax. I have no problem navigating the philosophical and the personal side of conversation, but I feel like a foreigner.

Yet, I realize that there is this aspect of culture that I will never completely understand. They are refined and I am unvarnished - both because I lack the experience and the money to finance those experiences.  We still use toilet paper rolls instead of Kleenex and we don't even use the term "bathroom tissue."  For what it's worth, I not only can't speak French, but cannot even pronounce most French words.

Normally it doesn't bother me, but at this party I feel conspicuously uncouth. At times this leads to a spiraling self-doubt where I begin to question my intelligence.  It has me thinking of my students. The system is designed for the middle class and my students are working class.  The movers and shakers are all refined, sophisticated, wine-drinking, jazz-loving educrats - upper middle class they would call themselves, because no one is rich in America. But really, they're rich.

Do my students internalize this lack of refinement as a lack of intelligence?  Does a student coming from a loud, crazy home find the organized quiet of a classroom to be foreign?  And does the lack of shared experiences with teachers ever cause a student to believe the knowledge of the working class is "less important" when it's not a part of the middle class psyche?  When my students go to college, will they access the "refined" skills of the cultured class?  And if they do, will they feel that they are losing a part of their identity? If they never pursue the experience of "high culture" will that prevent them from accessing some of the connections to pursue their dream career?  Or are those experiences simply superficial and thus not critical for success in various careers?

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This morning I re-read the Gospels.  The first chapter of John brings me into that poetic, metaphorical understanding of the story.  But I am jarred by the other three gospels. I'm trying to place myself within the story, trying to imagine where I'd be as a narrator.

I can see myself as the Pharisee, looking for orthodox views on religion, playing the seven-steps and eight keys formula, generally following the rules.  (I never jaywalk) I'd call myself a counter-cultural figure in a shirt and tie and I'd sip lattes with friends who convince me that the Free Market Messiah will take away my debt and lead me to financial peace.  I'd feel safe here, secure in my plain, Midwestern, common-sense approach to life.  And Glen Beck would beckon me toward anger, but not enough to go out and do anything. I'd quietly ignore the news of a Messiah, feeling slightly embaressed by yet another family claiming their son was the chosen one.

Or maybe I'd be a zealot, pissed off at the Roman "bread and circus," trying to recover some sense of authenticity lacking in both the religious and political institutions.  I'd be wearing a Che shirt (and wondering why people keep confusing him for Captain Morgan) and painting protest propaganda on the graffiti covered bathhouse walls of Jerusalem. I'd seek out the radical clerics in the desert who force me into discipline, because somewhere within I hate how easily my mind meanders. So, I'd bust out my incense and meditate and hope for the day I'd be centered. I'd hear the rumors of this Messiah and wonder if I'd be bold enough to slice through the Romans on the day of the violent revolution.

Or perhaps I'd choose the elitist view of the Sadducees.  Ever the rationalist, I'd hear rumors of a Messiah from the star-gazing crazies from Persia.  I'd laugh at the people who claim to see angels, just as I laugh at Horoscopes and Ghost Hunters and people who see the Virgin Mary on tortillas.  I'd sip wine and talk Plato and we would all laugh at claims of the working class shepherds who claim that God can be found in a newborn.

***

In my little suburban enclave, I run past an inflatable Nativity scene.  Here, an ultra-white, puffy-cheeked Mary and Joseph look into the crisp, white sheets of the manger. And the word became [inflatable] flesh and dwelt among us [next to Winnie the Pooh and Tigger, too and Garfield in Santa hat].

It's hard to think of the scene of a sweaty, teenage mom screaming in terror as Emmanuel comes into being.  God-With-Us in a place that smelled like stale urine and saturated with blood on the floor.

Joel asked me the other day if Jesus nursed "from Mary's boob."  It's hard for me to remember that she had breasts. I imagine it would have been hard for me to believe in Christ, laying defenseless on Mary's chest while she delivers the placenta.

***

People become cruel around Christmas.  Seriously mean.  I was at the park yesterday and everyone just seemed tense. Either that or totally disconnected. Two cars honked their horns in order to jockey for position at the parking lot by.  Finally a man jumped out of his car and smashed his fist onto the hood. (For the record, I think the hood won) I guess everyone was in a hurry to start relaxing.  Nothing says a calm afternoon like road rage at Sahuaro Ranch Park.

I'm not above this, either.  I've been more impatient with my boys lately.  I am using the threat of a time-out instead of the calm reassurance of reason.  I'm having a hard time being present with them.  Joel's stories are long and detailed and I have a hard time waiting it out.  I think he senses my disconnect sometimes and I don't want him to quit telling stories.  School will probably beat that out of him as it is.

My students tell me more stories of abuse and sickness and broken homes during the holidays.  Everyone coughs a little more.  I see more salt-stained puffy eyes. Even the most energetic students seem to walk with a bit of a damper in their stride. Faces are glazed over.  Quite a few kids tell me this year that they're skipping tamales and staying in town.  Hardly anyone brought cans of food this year for the food drive.  Times are tough.

***

On some level, I don't get the angels.  Not the baseball team, but the shouting and trumpets and the repetitive chorus.  After all, my religious experience is forged through conversations and books and well-delivered sermons and a praise band with guitars and drums.

I don't fully comprehend the pagan astrologers finding God outside the box.  It sounds uncomfortably close to religious relativity and it's hard for me to recognized that those who had all the answers missed all the questions.

I don't fully comprehend the blood in the barn and the screaming teenage mom and the husband who probably wonders if it would have been best for him to just leave and avoid the shame of a bastard son. My most dramatic moment yesterday was finding my first few gray hairs. I live in a world of songs with hand gestures and wiffle balls in the backyard.

I don't fully comprehend the shepherds gathering near, abandoning their only economic opportunity in order to see God-With-Us or the backdrop of corrupt government and infanticide and the absolute need for power. The only glimpses of genocide I see are through a nineteen inch television set that I can watch in in a home where I can change the temperature to suit my comfort.

But I get this much: God, the Word who spoke the universe into existence, becomes human.  I don't pretend to understand the mystery.  But I understand that he came into a world as hurt and broken and pissed off and disconnected and apathetic as the present day.  And I get the fact that most people missed him.  But the humble, the rejects, the outcasts found hope. I get that sense that God gets those who strike out in the ninth inning.

Although I don't always get him, he gets me. I am a skeptic, a cynic, a man of doubt.  For all my talk of transparency and relationships, I can be distant and reclusive and I guess that's why I love this holiday. It's not a time for those who "have it all together."

So, I awkwardly stumble through this time in my very suburban way - with fudge and cookies and lights and trees and ornaments and songs about snow (despite living in a desert).  The world doesn't cease to be broken, but for a short season each year, I am surrounded with very sensual reminders (albeit sometimes very deceptive) of Emmanuel.

I have hope.

Someone once warned me about the need to protect and preserve intellectual property, especially in a "new economy" where it's all about the rise of a Creative Class (Richard Florida).  I agree with this concept in theory, but in practice it is almost impossible.  I'll say a joke only to find out it's from a movie.  I'll come up with some amazingly new idea only to find that I stole the argument from reading Blink. 

"Nothing is new under the sun."

I stole that one, too.  It's public domain, though, so I think I'm good.

I haven't had one truly original thought ever.  Everything is shaped by what I experience in a conversation, in blogs, in books, in arguments, through a story or a poem or a mural or a jagged-edged letter-bomb on a cinderblock fence or an indie folk song or a God-forsaken seventies soft rock song from the days when I worked at Albertson's.

I have a section in this blog called Musings in Dialogue.  Most of the posts have no comments, but I'd love to hear what people think.  They are the questions I ask myself and, if I'm bold enough, sometimes my students.  Anyway, you can view them all if  you would like and post a comment.  I love reading the thoughts of the folks who read this blog.

I blog often, probably too often.  It was easier to limit myself when I had a book I was writing.  Currently I'm in the planning phase of a book that I'll be co-writing with someone. I had a blast writing my last book and I would like to write a new one. So, here are a few of the ideas running through my head:

1. A book on the paradox of teaching. This would begin with the notion that there isn't one "ism" that defines it, but that it is mystery that requires a certain level of humility.
2. A book on my suburban identity.  I started a blog about it, but found that I would rather write a sort-of critical analysis / memoir about life in suburbia.
3. A book on technology literacy.  Here, the main idea would be that students become part geek (learning the technology, loving it, using it to solve problems, leading innovation toward the future) and part guru (skeptical of it, able to see the dehumanizing side of it, respectful of the land and tradition)
4. A superhero memoir about the way we create our own ideal world / alter-ego and how this sense of mission and thirst for fame can actually prevent us from knowing people on a deeper level.
5. A graphic novel / comic book about a day when Jesus comes to school as a teacher and pisses off both  the overly tolerant liberals and the uptight conservative Christians.
6. A retelling of the book of Nehemiah in a post-modern context.

So, what do you think?  Do any of those sound interesting?

Okay, for the record, number five is not going to happen.  But do any of the other ones seem interesting to you?

People use the term "art inclusion," with a pejorative connotation, the same way that they use special ed inclusion.  It's as if art is a complimentary extra, a whip cream on a latte or sprinkles on the cup cake.  It's easy to view art as decorative or intriguing, but not necessarily powerful.

In the fourth grade, our teacher tried to include art.  Awkwardly, our full-time wrestling coach, part-time teacher gave us boxes of sugar cubes and told us to make models of the California missions.  We never designed anything ourselves.  We never questioned whether missionaries should have been there in the first place.  We learned about missions in our California textbook.  

When was the last time a textbook brought someone to tears?

History is the act of story-telling.  Yes, there is analysis.  True, there needs to be metanarrative.  Yet, those are simply alternative methods of storytelling.  If I want to teach about racism, I can have kids read page number 642.  Or we can read the poetry of Langston Hughes, the personal prose of Eldredge Cleaver and watch five minutes of Disney cartoons from the forties and fifties (always a great discussion of how people are socialized into racism).  I can let them view old sheet music suggesting that slaves were better off without their freedom.

I saw the following video for the first time today.  It's art for a pop audience, which is, incidentally, where I believe art belongs.  Call me a populist.  Call me an anti-snob.  I'd love to hear Sufjan Stevens on a Clear Channel station, but I'm doubtful of the prospects. The video was part of Ukraine's version of Britain's Got Talent and tells the story of the German invasion.

Anyway, this is worth the viewing:

1. Avoid the staff lounge.
After all, they are the "lounge lizards" who will steal your soul faster than a Death Eater, right?  Not exactly.  Maybe I'm just an awful teacher or perhaps inherently codependent, but fellow teachers have saved my career, given me great ideas and forced me to be less of a perfectionist. Yes, there is negativity, but you don't have to be crushed by a few negative comments.

2. Get rid of the teacher's desk.
It's a nice idea, but teachers need a work space.  There is a ton of administrative work and a desk is a great place to work (It beats using a TV tray or sitting at the student desks).  I recommend pushing the desk to a corner and using it only during prep.

3. Call the parents if a kid misbehaves.
Actually, most parents try their hardest and work hard.  Many of them don't want to be hassled when a teacher cannot manage a classroom.  You wouldn't accept a phone call from their work asking to help them learn to get along better with customers.  Other times, parents feel attacked by a potentially combative (albeit professional) phone call.  If Junior is a pain at school, he's probably a punk at home.  What is a parent going to do? If he's not bad at home, your concern about school simply validates their claim that he's "normally a good kid."

4. Don't think about school when you are at home.
The truth is that you are probably passionate about what you do.  After a few years this goes a way a bit and you'll miss it.  So, you're watching a movie and thinking about lesson plans.  It's not all bad.  In fact, it will probably help you develop better lessons when you sit down to write them.  True, there is a need for boundaries and for valuing relationships.  Yet, getting angry at yourself for thinking about school makes it worse.  Give yourself permission to avoid school or embrace it.  After all, it's your mind; the last remaining refuge that educrats can't touch.

5. Don't coach a sport.
You can stay until nine at night and still fail to grade every assignment.  You can agonize over seating charts and write reflections at two in the morning.  You can attend seminars and join committees and forget this reality: you got into the profession because you care about kids.  Coaching a sport can easily become a refuge for you where you see your students from a more holistic perspective.

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this has never been part of my work schedule

This post was inspired by another post from The Doc Is In

You can listen to it on the Internet Archives or listen below:

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for all the talk of "the cloud" I'm still a little skeptical

Recently, I described in a blog post the "Android Effect" of Google and how it played out in a bizarre dream of mine.  I get edgy sometimes when I think of the technocratic idealism I see in the blogosphere. It's not an accident that Google uses a sketchy term like Android to describe the humanizing of technology and the graying of man and machine.  It's not an accident that edu-conglomerates believe kids study best when they are in an island.  It's not an accident that my orange ActivBoard (what's with the deliberate mispelling in the tech world?) is named after a Greek god who stole fire and thus brought both destruction and creativity to the world.

Educrats would do well to think of the Greek mythology or even the American folklore of John Henry or the story of Babel.  Computers are pretty cool, but so is Socrates. In another century the computer will be a relic and Plato will still be around.  I know poetry and wisdom and philosophy are slower than Google, but for what it's worth, I'll take the tortoise over the hare.

There seems to be this mindset that digital citizenship is a simple subset to teach - a standard to hit "if we have time."  Basically, kids need to be safe, play nice and watch out for perverts. It's easy to slam Second Life and miss out on the reality that we are all living in a second life of Twitter and Facebook and e-mail and Myspace and Pandora.  It's easy to warn kids about pornography and miss out on other online sins (namely vanity and sloth)

It's easy to critique the message and miss the medium.

Digital citizenship is more than simply playing it safe, just as a democratic citizenship is more than wearing an "I Voted Today" sticker or chanting a slogan stolen from Bob the Builder (Yes, we can!).

The following are some of the questions I try and ask students.  At first, I sound like Red on One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest, but eventually they catch on.  I get forty-five days with them and if I'm lucky, I'll make them think twice when they log on. I admit that this is a bit long (though not by any means exhaustive), but here it is:

A Sample of Questions I Ask Students

Social Networks

How do sites like Myspace and Facebook shape how we interact with each other? How do those sites make money?  Are we becoming desensitized by advertising?  Have we made social interaction into a commodity?

Digital Identity

In what ways do you create a digital identity for yourself?  What are some of the dangers in being transparent?  What are some of the dangers in being anonymous? Are we becoming more image-conscious? Does this make us more arrogant?  Are we losing what it means to be human? How does the constant obsession with "new" cause us to mistake novelty for importance?

Images

How do images shape your view of concepts?  Are pictures more accurate than words?  What are the dangers in photo-editing software and our ability to believe what we see?  Is a "made-up" picture less real than what you actually saw (especially if your mind is able to misrepresent it as well)?  What are the dangers in "capturing" life on camera?  Are there people, places or ideas that should not be "captured" on camera?  Does the use of digital photography make people less careful about the pictures they choose to take? Does the quantity change the quality?

Video

How do people change when they are on video?  What are the dangers of having to be entertaining?  In what ways do we live in an entertainment culture?  What are the costs of editing a person's words and chopping it up?  How does the narrative change?  In what ways does the act of video force people to be more amusing?  Do Americans trust pretty people more than ugly people as a result of the video-culture demanding good-looking people for things like news and talk shows?

Music

Is the album dead? Is that a good or a bad thing?  Are songs going to get shorter or longer as a result of digitization?  Do you think the instant availability of recording technology will increase or decrease the overall quality of music? Do you ever feel like you know a lot of songs, but don't know any songs really deeply?  Does music have more or less power when it is portable?  People listen to music in isolation.  They used to listen to it in groups.  What did we lose in the process?  We have no shared cannon of music.  What does that mean for our ability to have collective storytelling as a culture?

Intellectual Property

Does creative commons actually destroy innovation?  If property should be shared, why not resources?  what makes an idea "yours" in a world where so many ideas are synthesized and customized so quickly?  What are ways you can be careful about respecting intellectual property?

Wikis

How do wikis fail to safeguard against errors?  What are the dangers in wiki anonymity?  What are the benefits of a wiki?  How does your voice change when you write a wiki?

Blogs

How do people change their tone of voice or their style of writing when it becomes public?  How does the structure of the blog change the length that a person writes?  If we can easily edit blogs, does that make us more careless in choosing words than if it were on paper?  What is the downside of a society where everyone can be a blogger? Is there a danger in a world where anyone can be "right" and no one has to be an expert? What are the dangers of lible?  Do most bloggers consider the credibility of their sources?  Is a blog a publishing tool or a communication tool?  If people can comment at any time and the conversation isn't bound to time or space, what do we sacrifice in terms of space and prescence?  How does that shape our communication?

Communication Tools

If anyone can access you at any time, are you ever really present when you are with someone?  How do communication tools make us more human or less human?  Are people lonelier when they are more connected? Or does the instant connection allow people to feel a deeper sense of connection to people?  How have communication tools changed our syntax? our grammar? our vocabulary? What is more real to you an instant message or a face-to-face conversation? Why does it seem like we're not talking as much anymore?

Information

Does the instant availability of information change how we view truth?  In an age where it's so easy to manufacture and publish lies, is there any way to know what is true?  How does a website's structure affect your ability to decide if it is true?  Is it possible to have too much information? What happens to the value we place on knowledge if it is so readily available?  Are we getting smarter or dumber or do we simply think differently than before?

Cyber Footprint

How does your online identity and interaction live on even after you have deleted it?  Will that change how you interact online? Is it worth the lack of privacy in order to access the convenience of "living in the cloud?"  Are there mistakes you've made that are now recorded online?  How does that make you feel?

Operating Systems

How do operating systems manipulate you?  How have you changed the way you think based upon the desktop environment you use?  In what ways does your computer itself change your attention span?  Is it true (or simply a myth) that operating systems are designed to make people multi-taskers? Have computers changed our work ethic?

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thanks to a first hour kiddo, I now know that this is a desert

A kid raises his hand during the drill-and-kill test.  "I'm supposed to find the main idea of a book that is about the desert, but the options are Cactus Heat, By the Ocean and Mountain Drought and Shrinking Ice Caps. All of these will work.  Chile has a desert that's nestled right up against the ocean. Mountains have deserts, too.  And one of the largest deserts is freezing cold.  Hasn't the test-maker ever heard of Antarctica? See, a desert isn't simply hot and flat.  It's about precipitation."

On another test, he asks, "I'm supposed to say how many people will be at the party.  If I'm not counting myself, this works out just fine.  But if I'm not then it won't work. The test question doesn't ask, but I think it's rude to not attend your own birthday party."  He's right.  The correct answer could be 12 or 13, which is B or C.

He raises his hand five times when the question reads, "Which is the best question for . . . " and says, "They're making the subjective into something objective.  Why can't they just let me write my own question and judge that instead?"

No one asks him to defend his answers.  No one gives him a chance to clarify a question.  Given his special education accommodations, I can re-read a question  but I can't explain it. The system is set up to efficiently measure critical thinking and few people seem to question whether higher order questioning belongs with a low-order format (multiple choice).

I don't deny that he has a hard time reading.  His mind meanders in often bizarre directions.  Thus, he is able to answer a critical thinking question, but miss a simple comprehension question. He over-analyzes answers that he believes are vague.  In math, he can explain a complex concept and then make a simple math error that ruins the entire problem.

When the test is over, he draws a scene from The Shining. I ask him about it later.  "The Jack Nicholson guy is a politician and the students are saying red rum and the politicians look really scared.  They're living out of fear and the kids are scared too.  But it's not until the politicians look at themselves in the mirror that they realize that they are the ones killing our education."

According to the Galileo, he doesn't understand theme or symbolism or metaphor.  He earned a sixty percent, which will drop his A in reading down to a C.  I'm not suggesting that this story resembles most students.  Yet, I have seen many students who fit this criteria.  They are great thinkers and lousy test takers. (For the record, I'm a decent thinker and a great test taker, which is why I ended up in honors classes and some of my smartest friends were overlooked)

I used to believe that if I taught kids well, they could pass the test.  I thought that I didn't have to teach to the test in order for them to pass it.  I believed critical thinkers were smarter than test-makers.  I'm having second thoughts about all of those presuppositions.

But I'm still banking on this hope: that some of the kids who fail the test will find a way to succeed in life.

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A few days back, I had a dream about Google.  I've always had vivid dreams about current events (one involved me being invited to a literal global pissing contest sponsored by No Child Left Behind and another involved Al-Qaeda buying our school and turning it into a terrorist training ground). I think Christy sometimes thinks I expand on my dreams, because she typically forgets hers minutes after she wakes up.  Then again, she's an SJ and I'm an NF so perhaps that's part of it. 

So, I'm sitting at home when a Google Android arrives at our door.  At first he says, "Hey, can iTouch.  Get it . . ." and we have to give him stars (think little sticky stars to put on a wall for bringing a Bible to church) and slowly, his sense of humor starts fitting ours.  He begins with annoying prop comedy and quickly shifts to a more cynical sense of humor. We like him at first, because he rids the pantry of all SPAM (not that we own any canned meat normally) and gives us free cookies so that he can get to know us better. The guy knows the answer to everything and can tell us within seconds.

At first, he starts out with the robotic voice like one would hear on a rap song and slowly, we start using the robotic voice and he starts sounding more human.  I turn to Christy and say, "Where's the bees?" and he interrupts and says, "Did you mean cheese?" and hands me a GPS map to the fridge. He starts reorganizing our entire house and replacing the antique furniture with new, chrome-style decorating.  When I ask him to switch back, he says, "Yeah, you still have the classic theme, but try this for awhile. I have a system that will make your life run faster and more efficiently."

Eventually, in this dream, we realize that Google knows us better than we know each other.  We realize that we're going to him with all of our questions and we get nervous when he starts making phone calls to advertisers and sharing our personal information. So, we kick him out and then feel disconnected to all of our other friends who have invited an Android to live with them.

I almost didn't blog about this, because it makes me sound like one of those conspiracy theory nuts who wants to tell everyone why W ordered 9-11 and why microwaves are secretly giving Americans cancer so that insurance companies increase profits.  Still, the dream reveals something within my subconscious.  I'm nervous about the blending of man and machine.  I'm nervous about living life in a cloud and missing the terrestrial beauty of a coffee on the back porch.  I fear that we'll start to believe that a tweet is something we make with 140 characters and we'll miss the twittering birds nearby.

In teaching tech criticism, I ask students to apply symbolism, metaphor and personification to computers. It is interesting to see the depth of discussion when Google is not an abstraction, but rather a know-it-all geek who wants to run your life (think Oprah, but smarter).  One student recently compared his iPod to a crowded party where one starts hundreds of conversations, but is never able to finish one.  "It's like an ADHD story-teller." Another compared the concept of a cyber footprint to the fountain of youth, "But I'm not sure I want a shadow of me living on in a digital world forever."

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I used to work with a kid who would go to a park bench and do his homework late at night, because it was the only place with a light.  Then, he saw a guy get stabbed at the park and he quit doing his homework altogether.  The teacher, as a result, wrote a disparaging comment on his report card about his decreasing work ethic. 

The other night my son had a mini-project for preschool.  We gathered up various items for a "share and tell" that he would participate in the next day.  The assignment was authentic, interesting and connecting to a current thematic unit.  It was the exact type of homework that I would suggest teachers assign.  Except, I kept feeling a sense of intrusion in our home.

See, I know it's not much but we have this routine with bath time and teeth time and story time and nag-dad-to-read-another-story time.  It's a ritual, not in the stale, stodgy procedural way, but in that earthy sense, where I remember what life is about.  The assignment required a mere forty minutes of time, but I felt as though I'd been robbed of something sacred.

The truth is that I don't like homework.  I assign one assignment per week and attempt to make it authentic.  Students get the assignment on Tuesday and it is due the following Tuesday.  I rationalize the homework by pointing out that they can work on it during a lull in the weekend. I make it authentic as I can (interviews, photo-documentaries, song analyses). However, I still regret giving homework for the following reasons:

• Teachers would complain if they were demanded to give up their free time in the evenings to grade. Many do, but it is a choice.  I feel we should give children the same courtesy. I'm not against voluntary enrichment activities, but not in the form of mandatory homework. 
• Not every child has the same home life.  Some have tutors and some have parents who get in the way of them accomplishing their dreams.  I used to work for an urban non-profit and I saw how difficult it was for some students to work in a house with a blaring stereo, a t.v., crying babies and no lights.  
• Children need time off.  They need time to be with their family, to play with their friends, to goof and have fun.  They need to toss a baseball or chase after the ice cream truck or go to the park. Homework actually teaches kids that learning is a punishment and their intrinsic motivation drops as a result. 
• There are too many chances to practice things incorrectly without the help of a teacher. In my class, students get instant feedback.  In homework, they can easily practice a specific skill incorrectly repeatedly. 
• It is often not used in actual class work and therefore becomes irrelevant.  Most homework that I see is a separate practice area that does not connect to the authentic learning in a classroom. 
• In many (but not all) cases, homework is far too easy to copy.  If a student can possibly copy an answer or download a paper then the assignment was not authentic.  Yet, I see kids at my school come home with packets that require little critical thinking.

I get it, though.  Teachers have to cover content and supplemental homework is sometimes the only available option. There's a better option. It's not necessarily an easy option, but I think it's better.

What if schools stopped assigning homework and instead lengthened the school day?  I realize that this concept might be offensive to some, but I would gladly have students from 8-4:00 (one hour longer), with slightly longer classes and less homework.  Some teachers might complain about this schedule, but the reality is that we have to work an eight hour day anyway.  Why not use our day to maximize learning time?

Within this schedule, I would also allow certain extracurricular activities to count as full classes.  Why can't the soccer team count as a team sports PE class?  Why can't the theater group count as an advanced drama class?  Seriously, this schedule would still ensure that students could get home around the time of many parents and have the necessary time to relax, take a break from school and spend time with family.

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Sometimes people say they like things because that's what they are supposed to say. The following is a list of things that people say they like, but deep within, really aren't too fond of:

1. Red Wine - I'm not convinced that people can get over the bitterness or that people can ever have such a refined taste that they can differentiate between wine in a box and wine from a first-class vineyard. 
2. Documentaries - I like documentaries.  But then again, I'm a true geek.  I'm just doubtful that most people really like them as much as they say they do.  Come on, really? Can you possibly find Al Gore reading a PowerPoint presentation to be the pinnacle of entertainment?
3. Black Coffee - I've met people who drink it without cream or sugar and I can't imagine that they would like something so bitter and acidic. 
4. Jazz Music - This applies especially to smooth jazz, which seems to be music for people who don't like music.  
5. Techno Music - I can't listen to a snare drum beat for 5 minutes and call it music.  Yes, I understand that techno can be intricate and beautiful and all that, but I wonder if people actually like it beyond simply background music. 
6. Televised Golf - Do I really need to explain this one?
7. NASCAAR - I see a larger variety of cars on I-17
8. Yo Gabba Gabba - I see how it's cool and trendy and all that, but after one episode do you ever need to watch it again?
9. Cathedrals - Read #8 above and apply it to candles, acolytes and homilies
10. Marathon Running - I ran one.  I loved long runs, but I also hated them.  So, when I hear someone gush about how much they love running marathons, I'm always a bit skeptical. 
11. James Joyce - I understand stream of consciousness and the importance of his work and all of that, but I can't imagine ever putting myself through the agony of reading another one of his works again.
12. Disneyland - Okay, I think there are a lot of people who like that place.  But I'm hoping that's not true.  Long lines, commercialism, Pleasantville atmosphere.  
13. Phil Collins - See #12
14. Baby Showers - I think it's part of the curse.

When I was in high school, I tried to argue my way out of an F on a test.  It was a real lame attempt, based mostly on the fact that a failing test would mean I'd miss a cross-country meet (to most kids, running was a punishment).

Me: Does math have to be binary? Does every question have to have a right answer?  To me, this word problem could work a few different ways based upon interpretation. 
Mrs. D: There's either a right answer or there's not.   
Me: Or there's both.
Mrs. D: See, that's why you and I are different.  I see the world in black and white.
Me: I do, too.  But black is the absence of all color if you look at it as light.  If it's pigment, it's every color combined.  So is white.  So black and white are both non-colors and all-colors co-existing at the same time.  That's a paradox I can't wrap my brain around. 

***

I believe in absolute truth.  It's an offensive idea to many of my trendy hipsterish friends, who like to "send positive energy" my way instead of saying a prayer.  I believe in mystery and paradox and relativism and sometimes that makes my church friends just as nervous, fearing that I'll someday transform Jesus into a pot-smoking Hippie.

I don't buy into left-brain and right-brain theory.  I think everyone is capable of using their entire brain and that, when push comes to shove, we're a whole lot more motivated by the amygdala than we believe.

People warn me not to trust my emotions; that they are a fleeting vapor.  So are thoughts. Consciousness is a stream.  But witnessing a kid getting bullied will always piss me off and a certain acoustic Eric Clapton song will always remind me of the first time I danced with Christy. Most of all there are a few convictions that I won't abandon. The mind is fluid and permanent, linear and disjointed. 

A sage of the past said, "The heart is deceitful above all things and without cure.  Who can understand it?"

***

This week my students will take a drill-and-kill test to prove what they don't know. I will walk around pretending to proctor while my mind conjures up plot lines of imaginary graphic novels I'll never draw.  The only reason I won't cheat and grade papers is that I care about my administration enough to play pretend.

Multiple choice cannot measure knowledge (merely lack of applied knowledge in a standardized format) much less wisdom.  Still, the results will be sixty percent of their final grade in the core subjects. Most special ed students will fail and it won't be the fault of the students or the teachers. Point this out, though, and the elusive "they" will accuse you of low expectations.

It seems to me that, if the mind is a mystery then maybe we should be a little more humble in how we approach assessment.  I say "we" because I often end a grading period with a lingering sense that I have let students down; that I didn't get to know them well enough or offer enough feedback or spur them toward deeper thinking.  If I'm not careful, I'll get as bad as the Galileo people in wanting something measurable.  Maybe that sage is right.  "Who can understand it?"

***

Students will walk into my computer class and I'll try and engage them in a dialogue about technology and how it is reshaping their world.  I'll fight a battle against online games and Facebook status updates and Playlist.com.  I'll try and convince them that a book might have as much to speak into their lives - and then they will blog about it.

Sometimes I get tired of technocratic futurism and grand predictions of "a new pedagogy." Yes, computers are cool, but so is Socrates. I want my students to be mindful of the past and interested in the future and present in the now. I want them to engage in the mystery. Perhaps that is too much to ask of a twelve year old.  I'm twenty-nine and still haven't figured it out.

I will encourage my class to criticize that which they use and use that which they criticize and when that feels to schizophrenic, I want them to laugh at a fart joke or a funny accent.  Laughter is just as human as abstract conversation.  I will try and convince them that the computer world of binary reality is as pretend as The Matrix and the act we put on is as poor a performance as Keanu Reeves. 

It's black and white.


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I don't want these guys to be paid based upon how many people they shoot

You can download it at Internet Archives or listen below

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I don't usually do the whole resource-sharing deal on this blog, because I have a slight anti-corporate education philosophy. Shocking, I know.  However, I have actually been pretty impressed with a few sites and one of them is TeachHUB.  They've interviewed me a few times and recommended my blog to their readers.  For what it's worth, I enjoy reading their articles.  I wish their site had been around my first two years of teaching.

So, Annie from TeachHUB sent this to me and asked if I'd let my readers know about it:

To fill you in, The TeachHUB Holiday Lesson Plan Giveaway provides all TeachHUB members with unlimited access to an archive of 500+ lesson plans through January 18, 2010. All lesson plans are inspired by pop culture and news headlines, aligned to national teaching standards and are a great way to enhance existing curriculum. For more information and to access the archive of Pop Culture Lesson Plans, please visit http://www.teachhub.com/holiday-giveaway/. 

The number one export from Africa is white liberal guilt followed at a close second by "awareness."  The fastest growing export is "evidence that you can have so little and still have so much."

Our textbook devotes the same amount of space to Africa as it devotes to Great Britain.  Students are more likely to develop a worldview of the continent based upon Blood Diamond or Hotel Rwanda than anything else.  I get it.  Things can be rough in Africa.  Yet, I wonder if constantly telling the victim narrative (especially when we are not allowed to admit that we have been the villain) is a part of imperialism and marginalization.  

empty pockets

Dr. Dobson, please don't use Jesus to sell the Republican Party.

Christian bookstore, please don't use breath mints to sell Jesus.

State Farm, please don't use soldier's lives to sell insurance.

Politicians, please don't use patriotism to sell unjust wars.

Postmodernists, please don't use tolerance to sell absolute relativism.
Modernists, please don't use bullet points to sell the mystery you can't explain.
Edu-crats, please don't use data to sell a child's mind to a transnational test book conglomerate.

John, please don't use your blog to sell education like it's a dollar store clearance rack special or a springboard for your half-baked ideas on the world.

Learn to ask and to listen.

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