Today my students will begin writing poetry.  It will be intellectual chaos at first.  "No, you can't do free verse.  You'll get there in a few days.  But today I want you chained down by rhyme and meter, because it is the restraint that will allow for the creativity."  

Students will feel angry and uncomfortable.  They'll be hurt when I say, "That's too trite.  Try again with something more original."  Some of them will use cop-outs, like "How can you say this isn't working?  It's poetry.  It's up to interpretation."  

They'll become incensed when I tell them it has to be handwritten, in ink and then rewritten again.  I want to see the story of their poem emerging from the scratches and the scribbles.  I want to see words crossed out.  I want to see struggling over rhyme scheme and mood. I want them to bust out a thesaurus in a book format, because I want them to recognize that it takes time to find the right word.  

*      *      *

The first few times I used a french press, it failed.  I didn't wait long enough and then I waited too long.  I put in too many grounds and then I put in the wrong amount of water. I had never viewed coffee as an artform. In the past, it was simple.  Take out a filter, toss in some grounds, fill it up and push a button.

But the first time I got it - when the french press coffee had that bold, rich flavor - I recognized the difference.  The process had been slower, tied so closely to my own actions and yet I had to work within the format.  If I failed to follow the steps, I failed to make a decent cup of coffee.

So, here's the strange phenomenon: like vinyl and crocheting and square-foot gardening, I know a ton of people who use a french press.  Not just because it's trendy to be vintage.  It tastes better.  And, waking up from the Cult of the Modern, so many people my age are recognizing that there is validity in recovering what we lost before dreaming up a grand future.

*     *      *

When students write poetry in my class, we turn the netbooks off.  The iPods have to go, as well.  For awhile I'll ask for silence.  A few brave souls will venture out of their seats.  Perhaps a few more might even venture outside.  We'll silence the buzzing machinery and students will be stuck with themselves.

It's the same reason that I ask them to follow a rhyme scheme and think about rhythm and texture and mood.  I want them to see the melodic nature of words.  Like a french-press coffee, I want my students to recognize that following an older artform is not necessarily obsolete.  Sometimes it's vintage.  Or classic.  Or even old-school, perhaps.  However, sometimes recovering an ancient art is better than clinging to a mechanical, push-a-button approach.  Poetry should be slower than prose.  It requires concentration.  It requires learning the science so that it can become an art.

photo credit - silentsnake09 on flickr creative commons

I once had a science teacher who told me that scientists had disproved the existence of God - or at least the existence of a theistic God. She said they isolated a "god spot" in the brain, proving forever that it was just a figment of our collective imagination. It's what we told ourselves so that we wouldn't feel so lonely.

I told her that we might have invented cosmology, too, as a story we tell ourselves so we wouldn't feel so ignorant. I asked if maybe the poetry of Genesis One could be the song and the Big Bang could be the dance and she dismissed me as an indoctrinated crazy who would someday outgrow my myopic worldview.

I quit loving science when it became a religion. Yet, oddly enough it was religion (or perhaps spirituality or faith or whatever it is that introduced me to grace) that helped me recover my love of science. It was the act of creation and the mystery of a child being formed within my wife that first sparked a love of science. It was the canvas of the stars on a Colorado camping trip and later the joy of learning to observe with toddlers that helped me to see that science matters.

I think I'm at a point right now that I can't see science without seeing grace and I can't think of grace without seeing my world. Maybe my old teacher was right.  (I have my reasons for what I believe, but I cannot "prove" it all scientifically)

I'd rather throw my lot in with a delusional dance than critique it all as a wallflower.

The principal stands up at the staff meeting and delivers his well-rehearsed announcement. "After a recent audit of student interaction and some severe cases of verbal bullying, we've decided to prohibit any voice tools within the classroom."

"What would those be?"

"Oh, any tools that can be used for social interaction.  We've found that students are engaged in a large-scale social network called friendship.  They simply request friends and next thing you know they are talking to one another."

Collective gasp.

"I know.  It's pretty scary.  One kid committed suicide after he was verbally taunted.  And if we've learned anything in education, it is that the best way to create a policy is to use one isolated outlier incident and present it as the norm."

"So, what will we do?"

"Well, students will use a mouth piece that will prevent them from speaking during class."

"Isn't that a classroom management issue?" I ask.

"We're making it easier for you.  Just think of it this way.  You allow students to speak in class and another teacher doesn't.  Next thing you know parents are complaining about the inconsistencies.  We'll just ban the voice altogether."

"But what if we want students to use their voice collaboratively?"

"Data proves that learning is done best in isolation.  It's the only way for us to have 100% making AYP by 2014."

"He's right," another teacher adds.  "Kids can't talk to one another on the test."

"But they'll need to speak to one another in the future.  They'll need it in most jobs."

"I disagree.  Most jobs ask people to sit silently," the principal adds.

"Like what?  Name one job where people never talk."

"Mimes and monks.  And that's just the ones that begin with m."

"He's right.  I've heard miming is making a comeback with the death of Marcel Marceau.  We can't have good mimes if they grow up talking."

The principal finally reassures me.  "We'll have a voice lab open.  Your kids can sign up for programmed speech.  It's like a non-religious catechism and it helps guarantee that they don't talk about anything off-topic, off-color or social-related."

Note: This is satire and is not in any way related to my own experiences.  My district is actually ahead of the curve on allowing authentic social media. 

Michael Kaechele doesn't engage in much self-promotion, so sometimes I forget that there are people out there who haven't read Concrete Classroom. However, I am drawn toward his blog for precisely that reason - it's real, it's humble, it's honest and it's profound. The best way to view him as a blogger is not simply as a writer, but as someone who engages in meaningful dialog through his blog, his tweets and through the various places where he writes, including Teach Paperless.

Mike doesn't typically tackle huge political issues of education reform, but when he does, it's well-written and well-researched.  Instead, he shares tools that have worked, strategies that he has tried out and most importantly stories from his classroom (like this one).

His Twitter account is @mikekaechele.

The students groan when I first introduce poetry. They fail to recognize that we've been doing poetry all year, scattered throughout science and social studies and math.

"Why did you guys react that way?"

"Poetry is boring."

"Poetry is too confusing. We spend the whole time looking for metaphors and rhyme and we never find out what any of it means."

"Yeah, besides, poetry doesn't matter. Not like functional text."

So, I tell them that the most important words demand poetry. It's the basis for most holy books. It's what captures the voice of the oppressed and launches social movements. It's practical, too, being the only time we get to talk about taboo topics in school, because it's "just poetry."

We start off modern, with Langston Hughes and students start internalizing the questions of "Harlem."  Unlike the textbook, my students don't miss out on the social implications of it.  They don't see it purely through the individualized lens of "pursue your goals."

"I think when it explodes, it's both violent and necessary," a kid says. "It's been like a raisin in the sun too long. Explosions are what fuel engines, right?"

Another kid says, "We feel the heavy load and we're just tired of it. We're tired of hoping for the DREAM Act and getting our papers. We're tired of it all. So at our house, we aren't even allowed to talk about immigration."

When we contrast the worldview of "Sitting on the Dock of the Bay" to a poem about Langston Hughes's mother, it turns into a deep discussion on whether we can change our world and whether it's worth fighting the fight.

We read poems about love and death and life and relationships and social injustice, ping-ponging back and forth, asking questions about the connections. The poetry becomes a safe place for us to talk about what we're not allowed to talk about. Yesterday, we read a hard, emotional poem by Gwendolyn Brooks about abortion. Students talked openly instead of getting into shouting matches.

And that's the beauty of analyzing poetry in a group. Yes, we study the rhyme scheme and metaphors and personification. But the power of poetry is that it becomes a safe place to engage in dangerous dialog.

A metaphor of education:



photo credit - keegan jones on flickr creative commons

Dear City Council Members:

With the election of an openly Communist-Muslim-Non-American Obama in the White House, I am scared that socialism is spreading through our nation.  I would like the City of Glendale to stop the spread of this vicious ideology.  Here are a few examples I am seeing on a regular basis:

Socialized Book-lending Program: I was shocked to find that anyone can simply walk into one of these lending depositories and have access to the collective knowledge of humankind for free.  I propose we replace the book-lending with a book-bidding system.  Let a private company buy the buildings and people can rent books on the open market.

Socialized Loafing Centers: Apparently these "public parks" are small green areas where children are encouraged to share and cooperate (Big Brother shaping play) rather than compete.  I propose we sell the small green spaces and allow people to build miniature amusement parks where you pay-to-play or better yet steal cage fighting centers or small industrial centers where children can learn job skills.

Socialized Water Exchange: This is perhaps the most dangerous of all that I've seen.  Small mechanical faucets at the Socialized Loafing Centers where people can have access to clean drinking water for free.  If basic needs are met, people get lazy.  So, why not replace these with vending machines?  We would have more choice and more profit and all the while stripping our city of laziness. 

Socialized Streets:  I find it unfair that anyone can drive on our streets regardless of income.  Even those who pay hardly any taxes are allowed to go wherever they choose.  So, I propose we make all streets toll roads.  Make sure to include bicyclists and pedestrians.  Why should one be able to access the entire city on evenly paved concrete?  Besides, pedestrians have been proven to lower private property values.

Socialized Rule Enforcers:  At first, I thought they were simply discos on wheels (the lights, the repetitive music) but now I see the reality.  We have a socialized police state.  Pretty scary.  Men in uniforms who want to ensure I am driving at the right speed.  So, I propose we replace these with citizen's arrests.  We'd have lower crime rates if we could just bring back vigilante justice, Chuck Norris style.

Socialized Emergency Teams: I understand the desire to protect private property.  Firefighters have a place in our system.  Yet, many of these first responderse are being used to save lives.  That's one step away from socialized medicine.  Have a heart attack?  Drive your own damned car to the hospital.

Right now, we have a slogan: "It's Our Town, Please Slow Down."  I think this encourages laziness.  So, I would like to replace it with an Ayn Rand inspired slogan: "It's our city, don't show pity."

Sincerely:

Concerned Citizen

Sometimes I enjoy writing a blog series (Make. Believe. was my favorite recent series), because it gives me a chance to work within some more specific parameters.  So, from now until June 1st, my blog series will be All Things Alliterated.  I won't always choose to write in each category each day (no one wants to read a blog post every single day), but here's the basic line-up:

Metaphor Mystery Monday:  I think in metaphors.  I believe in paradox and mystery.  Here's my chance to explore both.

Techno-Luddite Tuesday: Thinking about the world shaped by technology.

What's Working Wednesday: Anything that seems to be working.

Thankful Thursday: Typically, this will involve reasons I like teaching.

Featured Friday: I'll feature a blog, a song, an artist, or a book that I have enjoyed.

Satirical Saturday: A chance to write satire - some scathing, some over-the-top.

Story-telling Sunday:  This could be a personal story, a classroom story or a work of fiction.

The eighth grade team (We're not so much a team as a group.  A team spits sunflower seeds and scratches themselves and wears matching outfits) will be meeting with the principal tomorrow.  We will collectively reassert our commitment to following the rules.  Call it a renewal of the vows for our staff handbook.

I'm guilty, not of cheating against the rules, but of negligence.   I was never in love in the first place and if I can keep my respectful distance, the rules and I can coexist peacefully without having to engage in any deep commitment.  If I think too hard about the rules, it will turn into a fight.  I'll grow bitter and angry and I'll find passive-agressive methods of sabotage toward the incessant nagging of "do this" and "don't do that."

Old-school Paul got it right when he said that the Law (and indeed, I would use the school rules with a proper noun) inflames the desire to rebel.  The rules create the desire to do something wrong when it was never a desire in the first place (Try this out for a whirl. I created a "prohibited to read this" bookshelf and watched kids sneak "banned" books)

I think the same is true of a classroom.  Give the kids some procedures and it goes smoothly.  Offer them some guiding, ethical principals (I love the three our school chose: be respectful, be responsible, be same . . . though I would like to add "be courageous" if it were possible) However, provide them with a huge list of do's and don'ts and watch what eighth graders do with it.  This is especially true when teachers don't follow the same rules (I can chew gum, but you can't) or if the rules seem confusing or inconsistent (you can't wear a sweatshirt indoors unless it is a solid color)

So, why don't I just break the rules if I don't believe in them?  It has to do with relationships and community.  I like my principal.  I trust him and I am loyal to who he is as a person.  While we might disagree philosophically on rules, I'll play along because I don't believe in creating conflict unless it's for a truly just reason.  I think it's silly that we have speed limits, but I follow those (kind-of) as well.  Ultimately, that's a part of being in community.  It's a social contract.  I agree to follow things that seem superfluous, because I want to be a part of the community.  Our school has a truly democratic, shared leadership and I have an avenue to change the rules if I'm willing to fight that battle.  Alas, I'm not up for that battle.

So, why don't I just follow the rules?  Ultimately, it comes down to the fact that I am not a manager.  I don't do point systems.  I don't do rewards and punishments.  I don't do stickers.  I don't do seating charts and after school detention and 1-100% grading. It's not who I am and it's not what I believe.  Students the freedom to learn.  Anything that gets in the way of learning (reward system, loud talking, etc.) is a battle I will fight.

I go through short spurts where I try really hard to be a manager, but it always fails.  I try and remember which sweatshirts are okay, but I'm more likely to miss the sweatshirt and focus on whether the student is learning.  I'll miss the gum and engage in a dialog to help clarify misconceptions.  I'll fail to hone in on the ID badge, because I'm more focussed on who the student is rather than what the student is wearing.

Some teachers can do the manager thing really well.  Good, caring, quality teachers, too. However, I will perpetually remain in the cycle of trying really hard to keep up with the system and then losing interest, because ultimately the rules and I were never all that compatible to begin with.

I had a conversation about Martin Luther King Jr. with my son.  I'm scared of what he'll grow up thinking about King if it's all in the schools.  I want him to know that  heroes are flawed and bold and rarely ever "nice."


Joel asks me, "Do you get tomorrow off?"

"Yep. It's for Martin Luther King Jr. Day."

"What will we do for it?"

"What do you mean?"

"For the holiday."

"Nothing, I guess."

"Oh."

"Do you know why it's a holiday?"

"Because he was shot. But why did they shoot him?"

"He wanted equality. He wanted rights for African-Americans. There's still people out there who fight for rights and they still make a lot of people angry."

"If he was alive right now, would he fight Sheriff Joe?"

"I think he would."

"But with words, right? I mean, he wouldn't punch him, would he?"

"Words can be more powerful than punches, Joel."

"Was the man who killed him crazy?"

"Probably."

"The same kind of crazy as the man in Tucson?"

"I think so."

"He killed a nine-year old girl. Can you believe that?"

"I know it was horrible."

"The police men used dogs and hard hoses on Martin Luther King and on his friends."

"Some of the kids were attacked."

"Why were those guys still the police?"

"Seems kind of crazy, huh?"

"Is it the same kind of crazy as the man in Tucson and Sheriff Joe?"

"Maybe it is."

I’m fixing my bike up again and preparing to ride it to school each day after coming to terms with my own contradictions between what I value and what I tell my own children. I’m realizing that I can’t talk about healthy choices, eco-friendly decisions, paying attention to the community or staying within a budget while I choose to stay in a steel cocoon fueled by a non-renewable resource.

It’s part of a longer process that my wife began a few years back of examining what we value and how we live. It started with getting to know our neighbors, growing a garden, composting, switching to cloth diapers and hanging clothes on a line. It’s expanded to raising chickens, rethinking our energy use and being intentional about bringing our kids into the dialog.

This isn’t to say that we have it all figured out or that we have shifted into a fanatical dogma. Perhaps the greatest gift our children will receive in this dialog is that of freedom and humility. We openly admit that our actions will not always fit our values and that the journey will include as many failures as successes.

So, it has me thinking about my classroom. Can I tell my students that math is important and yet avoid thinking mathematically in life? Can I tell my students to be original and develop their own philosophy and stay in a silent, moderate middle on the core issues I care about? Can I tell my students to think critically about the role of technology and then use the television as a babysitter? Can I tell students that they need to work hard, while I stuff the trash can with student work? Can I tell students that cooperative learning is important while I engage in staff lounge gossip (honestly, our staff lounge isn't too bad in this respect)?

Go back for awhile, behind the factory, buried within the philosophy that once flowered before the industrial pavement of compulsory schooling. Regardless of the educational stream or the ideology that shaped it, there’s a notion that a teacher’s value depends upon how he or she lives. Whether it was the expert craftsman teaching an apprentice, the informal network of family or the formal, philosophical liberal arts education, people expected teachers to live out the philosophy that they taught.

I realize that the past isn’t always so glorious. The apprenticeship model often turned to indentured servitude or abuse and the liberal arts education often became so elitist and abstract that it lacked the vitality of true education. Yet, if we want true reform, this might be a value of the past that we need to reconsider.

Ultimately, if we want to talk about holistic education and life-long learning, it has to begin with educators. This isn’t to suggest that we live perfect, moral lives or that we use our personal life as some type of a platform for our educational philosophy. The process has to be humble and organic. However, if we aren’t living the values we are teaching, students will ultimately recognize it as a slick, empty counterfeit.

After hearing the feedback from readers, I decided that the original cartoon was too cartoony, so I decided on two more cover options. I asked the students in my class and they overwhelmingly preferred the painted cover to the photograph cover.  However, I like the photograph, because it gives it a more professional look. Updated: I added a middle one and I've played around with the title a bit, too.

When listening to music, my typical mindset is that of a glutton at a buffet. I think nothing of mixing and matching sounds, cutting out a part of the song I don't like and rotating around albums that fit my exact mood. I look to music for a certain therapy, I guess. It's a domain where I have absolute autonomy.

However, somewhere in mid-December I realized that it had been ages since I listened to an album all the way through. So, I decided that this year, I would limit myself to two albums per month, with the rule that I would not skip any songs and that I would listen to the album in order. The first album would be on my computer (early morning grading, prep periods, writing) and the second album would remain in my car.

I then wrote the names of twenty-four of my favorite albums (allowing the Thrice Alchemy Index to be one album) and then I picked two per month out of a hat.

This month?

Damien Rice's O album is my in-car pick, while The Swell Season (both the name of the album and the name of the duo Glen Hansard and Czech singer and pianist Markéta Irglová). Both albums have a raw, unfinished feel alongside beautiful vocals with cellos, violins and piano. Both of them deal with themes of love and loss in a way that only Irish singers seem to pull off without sounding overly sentimental.

Here are some random observations about this process:

• Damien Rice goes too long on just about every song, adding a whisper or an extra violin solo or an additional vocal that doesn't quite fit.  It drives me nuts, because that's how I am.  I'm "that guy," the one who, at a party, doesn't realize that the conversation ended or that my story went too long.  This quirky side of the album has made me more intentional about conversations. 
• Being duets, both albums create this effect where one person is singing and the other seems to listen patiently.  Add this element to the fact that I don't get to skip any songs and it has me thinking about the intentionality of listening to people.  Not all the time, but often in a conversation, I tell myself not to cut in, because every conversation is a duet.
• I'm becoming more aware of nuance and detail. When I hear "Cannonball" for the tenth day in a row, I pick up on a vocal inflection and the song has a subtle, new meaning.   
• When I get tired of an album, I'm stuck with silence.  However, I forgot how much I enjoy silence. It makes me think that there is value in being "stuck" with something that will ultimately be something I enjoy. 

From the back of the book (a friend of mine wrote it):

As an eighth grader at Cesar Chavez Middle School, Gabriel Dunn inhabits the invisible zone between the elite Us Tribe and the often-rejected Them Tribe. However, after a freak accident during a schoolyard fight, Gabriel ends up living with his Uncle Carl, where he trains to be a superhero.

It's a fresh start in an environment full of freedom - the freedom to drive, the freedom from grades and most importantly, the freedom to create his own story. However, Gabriel soon realizes that this isn't the escaped he had hoped for. Between battling a bully, figuring out an enigmatic labyrinth and working on a complex mission to save the Superpower, he finds that he can't escape his own story.

In the process, Gabriel grows to trust his new friends Jerome and Bridgette while questioning his loyalties to his twin sister Perla and his cousin Jesse. Ultimately, he realizes that the only way to make sense out of his present reality is to deal with his past.

Written as a fictional memoir, the story blends realism with fantasy and action with reflection. The result is a thought-provoking and engaging read that appeals both to youth and to adults of all ages.

I've been writing a fictional memoir of a superhero in training.  I didn't originally intend it to be a series, but after writing the first work, I am seriously considering expanding it.  While the core audience is eighth grade, I readily admit that I write it for deep-thinking eighth graders and I am hoping a few adults might find it engaging

I have created two very different covers and I would love your input on which one I should use.   I am planning to release Stunned: Memoirs of a Superhero in Training in about two months.  

When I first began teaching, I was surprised that none of the Language Arts classes I had practices Sustained Silent Reading.  A childhood favorite of mine had become a dirty word.  "Kids can't do SSR," the told me.  Or "We need to work on skills and we don't have time for it."  My favorite was, "Research shows that low readers don't benefit from SSR."

It seemed insane that we would teach kids how to read, but never practice the skill in class.  It seemed a bit like teaching kids how to do a lay-up and then saying, "I know you might not have a basketball hoop at home, but I'd like you to practice it there.  Or find a park.  Good luck."

At first, I had real pushback from students on silent reading.  They groaned.  They sighed.  They watched the clock.  At the time, it was ten minutes.  We slowly built up to half an hour and through the process, things gradually changed.

I have no data to back this up and I recognize that this might not even be scientific.  However, it always feels like success when students are quicker to take out their reading books than to put them away.  In my class, the students have gone from whining about silent reading, to getting frustrating when I stop their reading flow after half an hour.  A few of the more rebellious students will pull out their books when they finish their math.

As for results, many of my students have moved from 60-70 words per minute on fluency tests to 110-120.  Meanwhile, many of the average readers have jumped toward 175-200.  More importantly, they are understanding what they read.  While I don't put much stock in standardized tests, every one of my students is now passing the quarterly benchmark.

So, here's how I do our silent reading:

1. Students pick their own books.  The only rule is that they have to complete at least one fiction and one non-fiction book a quarter.  Some of them read part of a book and switch.  That's okay to me. Eventually they find a book they enjoy.  By the end, most students complete about about a book a week to a book every two weeks. 
2. Students have the option of doing a creative book review (a video, podcast, slideshow) or an interview with me after they finish a book. 
3. I allow students to read multiple books at multiple levels.  One of my highest readers chose The Giver, Technopoly (a great Neil Postman book), Brave New World and Harry Potter. He began making creative connections between technology, the concept of magic and illusion.
4. We work on one reading strategy a day.  It might be visualizing, asking clarifying questions or making inferences.  I have no accountability for this, either.  I just trust that students will use these strategies. 
5. There is very little monitoring of progress.  We don't do reading logs.  Instead, students have a short conversation with a critical thinking question, such as, "How has the setting in your story shaped the personality of the protagonist?" 
6. We do silent reading every day, including the last day of a quarter, testing days and field trip days. It's not an option. 
7. I join them in reading.  Toward the beginning of the process, I walk around and check to see their progress or read their body language for signs of frustration.  However, by this time in the year, I'm reading as well.  I think there's something powerful in students knowing that their teacher loves to read.

For those of you who attended my presentation at the Reform Symposium, here is the Power Point. To those of you who didn't attend, the reference to Michael McDonald will make no sense.

When I heard the news about Gabrielle Giffords, I wasn't shocked.  However, I was sad.  She is one of two representatives to engage my class in a discussion about immigration and while she took a more hawkish approach than me, she offered reason and dignity rather than mean-spirited insults and simplistic pandering.  She saw the human side with the legal side.

Still, it didn't surprise me.  People forget that before 9/11, the last terrorist attack was an inside job.  Supposed "conservatives" and "libertarians" (who don't represent either liberty or the conservation of freedom) bombed Oklahoma City, killing innocent children in the process.

Home-grown neo-con terrorists have been shooting at Representative Grijalva's offices all year.  Then there's the Tea Party candidate who said that a Second Amendment solution might be the best idea.  Oh, and the Fox News favorite, Sarah Palin's "symbolic" map that included Giffords.

I don't blame Sarah Palin for what happened, but I do believe that symbols take on powerful meanings and far too much of her rhetoric has been fascist.  I don't blame the Republican Party, either.  Many of my friends and family members are GOP and they aren't joining a terrorist movement.  They simply believe in small government and national security.

Bottom line is that this isn't about politics.  

It's about death.

It's about racism and bigotry.

It's about an ideology that sees anything public as a threat to anything individual. 

The reality is that I am living in a state of fear and regardless of how you color it (red or white), it's simply become a dark place to live.

The U.S. Constitution is a genius document, not for its great ideals, but for the practicality and the paradox. The notion of checks and balances is what prevents our nation from turning insanely fanatical at our worst times and what allows us to curb the positive times with a certain reality check.

It's interesting to watch the movement claiming that whatever we do in our government should go back, not only to the Constitution, but to the original intent of the Founding Fathers.  I like our Founding Fathers, Jefferson especially, but even the whiny John Adams gets a few courtesy points.  However, they were broken men.  Heroic, yes, but slave-owners and bigamists and chauvinists.  After all, they believed we should count slaves as 3/5 of a person.  Not exactly the freedom-loving patriots we make them out to be.

We have a way of glorifying the dead after the fact. So, David is the man who sleighed a giant and we fail to tell the kiddos at Sunday school about how he fooled around with his best friend's wife and then killed her husband when she got pregnant, because back in the day you didn't just send them away to a clinic and then a vacation afterward while you take a holiday in the Bahamas and come back with your full composure.

To me, this is really dangerous that fails to recognize the original intent of the Founding Fathers themselves.  Read their works and you recognize that they saw themselves as flawed, but the nation as something worth fighting for.  Read their works and you'll see that they believed the consent of the governed belonged, not to posterity, but to the people in the present tense.  They created mechanisms that would allow the Constitution to change depending upon the will of the people and the context of the world.

I'm a big fan of the Constitution, which is why I think people should be allowed to own guns, speak freely, have a fair trial, not be tortured and be allowed to walk through airport security without being strip searched. I have faith in democracy and in the republican system, which is why I will remain a  democrat and a republican and a libertarian.

And it's why I will teach government and help students to think deeply about Constitutional law, because  even if it's not on the test, it's on the ultimate test determining whether democracy can work in our society.  It's why I want them to interpret the Constitution not through the legendary eyes of a Founding Father, but through their own eyes.  I want them to own their voice, because that's what democracy is all about.

I don't get how to use social media.  Perhaps it's because social interaction and "use" don't fit.  It took me years to figure out my oral voice and even longer still to develop a decent written voice.  Both media were heavily influenced by close relationships, physical geography and feedback that included body language.  Now in a geographic vacuum, I try to figure out how to interact socially and it's confusing.

I often feel like the wallflower of a party where I can't keep pace with the conversation and I can't read the facial cues and I'm totally unsure of the social norms.  In other words, I feel online much the same way as I do at a real party.  I yearn for depth - which is why I am so much more likely to read a blog than a tweet.  Perhaps "depth" isn't the right term.  I yearn for context, which Twitter and Facebook often miss.

Why Twitter Is Hard for Me
#1: I forget to say thank you to people who retweet me or mention my blog.  It's not that I'm ungrateful, but that sometimes a ton of thank you's can start to sound like a newscast.  "Thank you, Bill, for that news about social unrest in the Ivory Coast." I don't know exactly how to do the whole "thank you" thing well on Twitter.

#2: I don't retweet other people much, either.  Again, I really like what people write, but I respond to them instead of retweeting them.  Sometimes an RT can feel like yelling out to my neighbors, "Hey guys, I was watching The Office and Jim said the funniest thing to Dwight." I like when people retweet me.  It's like a secular version of an Amen, but it's uncomfortable for me.

#3: I'm long-winded and the character count is hard for me.  I can't get over this.  Ever.  I want to use two spaces after a sentence.  I want to use "could" instead of "cld" which might seem like "cloud" or "clot" or worse still "clot."  See, it's too hard for me.

#4: There's a lot of hyperbole.  THE SEVENTEEN SUPER-FABULOSO WAYS THAT YOU WILL RADICALLY CHANGE YOUR LIFE BY USING DIIGO. I don't mind practical advice.  I don't even mind hyperbole (Socrates and Jesus were both great at it) and yet sometimes it gets to be a bit much.

#5: I never know when I am butting into a conversation.  At a party, I can just sort-of stand there and wait for the right moment.  On Twitter it's like walking into a conversation in mid-sentence and adding something.

So, why do I stay on Twitter?

I like the ideas.  I like the interaction.  As much as I feel like a wallflower, it's still like being at a party and that still beats most television programs.


Why Facebook Is Hard for Me

#1: Like or Dislike
When someone announces something really big, I feel like I should like/dislike it. However, this gets confusing. "Satan sucks." Does marking "like" mean I generally don't like Satan or does it suggest that I am sacrificing animals in a secret cult gathering? Or what if it's more personal? "My brother past away. He will be missed." I "like" the update and want to lend support. However, I don't like the fact that your brother past away when in fact that is pretty damn tragic.

#2: Fringe Friends
I have no problem with people I know only vaguely leaving comments. However, I often fear that leaving a comment on a co-workers page can be the online version of a close-talker.

#3: Former Students
I allow former students to befriend me. We're not friends, though. It would be creepy for us to go hang out at the mall together, which is why when I'm on Facebook I feel like I have to be extra-non-creepy and therefore I end up being standoffish toward former students.

#4: Lack of Context
I can't be political, since I have some pretty extreme left and right friends. Unlike a real social situation, I can't figure out the rules. I know that it's okay to take a crap in the woods, but totally socially unacceptable to do so in a church service. I know that I can cuss at a pub but I can't cuss around my wife's extended family. This lack of context makes the rules of Facebook that much more confusing.

#5: I Don't Use It Correctly
I don't find funny stuff online, take cool pictures or do pretty much anything that you are supposed to do with Facebook. My lack of a cell phone hurts me here, because it actually takes some effort to find and post pictures.

#6: Lack of Body Language
I can't smile without using annoying emoticons. I also can't be funny, because my humor can be dark and sardonic when there's no twinkle of an eye or smile.

#7: I Feel Guilty
When I'm on Twitter, I think of all the cool ideas to share. It's about a conversation. On Facebook, it's about a connection - often times with people I haven't seen in months and some of whom live in my city. That can make me feel guilty when the distance is often mutual.

So, why do I stay on Facebook?

It's the language we collectively speak. It's a horrible medium, but it's the only way I find out who is getting married or divorced or dying or having more kids. It is where we post our life cycle for others to view. So, I stick with it, even though I honestly can't figure it out.

Back then, kids could learn valuable job skills - and in their bare feet, nonetheless!

Let's not spend too much time trying to analyze the data.  True, Shanghai is a magnet with China's top students and the U.S. tested students from all walks of life, but such arguments simply miss the point.  We were literally slaughtered by China in the standardized tests.  Okay, not literally, but figuratively.  They beat us in just about every subject.

This is scary for a few reasons.  First, China outnumbers us.  With a massive population, they'll be popping out engineers and doctors like nobody's business.  In a globalized, New Economy, this doesn't bid well for the United States.  Second, China might take over as the most dominant superpower.  With the second largest economy in the world, they can pretty much manipulate the situation with sovereign wealth funds, currency market manipulation and sheer charm (as they did with the World Cup).  We can't beat that.  We're in both a financial and a charm deficit.

So, what's the solution?  How do we win the global pissing contest? We copy their system.

I know it might sound strange that we would want to emulate a public education system based upon a government with human rights violations.  I know it seems bizarre that conservatives who hate socialized health care would want to copy a Communist country, but sometimes even the bad guys have good ideas.

I realize that the original goal of public education was a well-informed citizenry, able to make democratic decisions with wisdom.  But let's be honest, that system simply doesn't help us make money.  Out with Jefferson and in with post-Maoist Chinese education.

We need and education system focussed on:

• Helping kids gain job skills
• Preparing students for the high-stakes global economy of the future
• Accountability
• Higher levels of transparency
• More rigor
• A back-to-basics approach

So, taking from China's lead, I'd like to propose that we create industrial centers for students.  After all, many children in China already work.  Why not give it a whirl?  Our kids are lazy and could use more rigorous activity.  This will help solve the obesity epidemic while also transforming our schools from budget-draining debt-ridden liabilities to high-yielding investments.  Besides, who better to do the monotonous, detailed work than the dull-minded and nimble-fingered little ones?  If a kid can construct a pair of shoes, he can construct a sentence.  We'll call it kinesthetic learning.

We've gotten spoiled.  We need a back-to-basics approach and what can possibly be more back-to-basics than child labor?  It's how we originally built this great industrial economy.  Why not bring it back?

I realize critics might suggest that I am advocating for child labor sweat shops.  No, no, don't consider these sweat shops. Rather, they'll be sweet shops.  Huge industrial centers where our children help improve U.S. exports so that we become the world's confectionary leaders.  Kids will read Charlie and the Chocolate Factory in the morning, perhaps do some drill-and-kill test prep to prepare them for factory work (Think of this as mental calisthenics) and then spend their day learning practical job skills that will help them in an industrial economy.

There's one final benefit to this proposal. We all know that teacher's unions are the reason for our current educational crisis.  Our whole economic downturn might seem like the fault of greedy bankers or Wall Street tycoons.  Yet, who taught them to be greedy?  Who encouraged them to cheat?  Public school teachers.  This system does away with the teaching profession entirely and replaces them with middle-management workers.

I urge you to write to your congressional representatives.   Talk to Bill Gates.  Visit with Oprah.  Convince the wealthiest reformers that this is the type of back-to-basics reform that our children need.  If you don't support the industrial centers, you don't support children.  

Yesterday, I tweeted a line from a YA book I am writing:

  

When I was a kid, I was amazed that heroes could be so flawed. Now I am often amazed at how flawed people can be so heroic.

It unintentionally became the theme of this novel.  When I began the story, I had no particular theme in mind - just conflict and characters.  Over time, the theme emerged.  

The promise has been fun given the two almost conflicting genres of superhero story and memoir.  It's harder still to avoid the sucker punches about tights or the satire about education and simply write an engaging memoir.  I am finishing the first draft today and at the risk of sounding arrogant, I am happy with what I wrote.  I still see some areas that require major revision, but   

The Story Behind the Story

For two years, I have toyed with the idea of writing a novel.  At some point during the summer, I decided on more of a young adult novel for a few reasons.  It began when I read some of the young adult genre and had conflicting views on it.  At times, I found myself surprised by the level of depth (The Giver, for example, is phenomenal) and at other times I was frustrated by the some of the overly-simplistic characterization and the bad stereotypes of urban life (as if the only real issue my students deal with is whether they go with the thug life).

I first thought about writing a novel that my students would enjoy.  However, this became difficult, given the fact that at any given moment I will have one group of students enjoying a particular text while others hate it.  So, I decided to write the type of novel I wish I had read in eighth grade.  Heavy on action and dialog, but also showing some depth of thought and most importantly I worked toward not talking down to my readers.  I hated that as an adolescent.

I disregarded the idea for a time and then began the write-a-novel-in-a-month process in late November after I read a short excerpt of the text to my class.  When the students responded positively to this particular chapter, it made me realize that this really was a novel worth writing.  From there, I kept going, often changing the plot, rethinking the characters and watching the story redevelop.

What's Next?

So, where do I go with this story?  I'll probably work on revising it over the next three or for months and then self-publish it.  I like the idea of releasing a book near my birthday, though I'm not particularly sure why.  So, keep an eye out for Stunn Gunn and the Pyramid of the Heroes.  I'm not sure if this will become a series.  After writing a book, I don't feel like the larger story is finished and I feel somewhat attached to the characters.

The make-up artists do a phenomenal job fooling me.  Add to this the right camera angles and lighting tricks and I begin to believe the medium can keep a figure young forever.  So, I expect to see Dick Clark, the permanent fixture who counts the New Year down and helps me believe in a fresh start.

Instead, I watch a frail man, the permanent fixture, a shell of a celebrity, still well-decorated by the make-up artists, still looking relevant and classic.  Then, I listen to his voice.  Shaky.  Off-pitch.  He can't count down from thirty.

At first, I'm just sad, real sad, far too sad for a man I have never known.  Then it just feels depressing and awkward, but I'm drawn in again.  The camera pans around as beautiful drunk people kiss one another and then there's a quick shot of Dick Clark, head down, hand over his mouth.

Unplanned perhaps, I think Dick Clark gave us a mirror of ourselves.  I think he gave us a reality check on a night that is all about the belief in fresh starts and beautiful drunk people and resolutions that maybe this year will be better than the last (had to add a Counting Crows allusion -- it's been awhile) and all the while here is this aged celebrity whose shaky voice reminds us of mortality.

I kiss my wife and then we walk two doors down to wish our son a Happy New Year (he's having a sleep over at his grandma's house). The air is cold and a fog has settled in and even the fireworks take on a new symbolism, that life will fade quickly. I'm not sure if I remember it correctly, but I think I held him a little tighter and hugged him a little longer.  A frail voice will do that to a dad.