Adventures in…Adventuring

November 11, 2014 r0b1nm4rkl3yLeave a comment

I’d like to say to all my fans out there, thanks for the support. And to all my doubters, thank you very much because you guys have also pushed me.

Usain Bolt

This picture is a reminder of times I’ve accomplished more than I would have thought possible because I’ve dug in and gotten stubborn when people who shall remain nameless have scoffed at my ability or actively discouraged me from doing something.

Case in point: whitewater rafting. I love rafting, and have gone several times. I was in my 40s, well past my physical prime (which was a two month period in my late teens, I think) when I saw a picture of people whitewater rafting and thought, “I should try that.” After I announced that I was planning a trip, I became a punchline for a few people. Their expectation seemed to be that I would come to my senses just before time to board the raft, realizing that rafting was not the sort of thing I would do.

I loved it. We primitive camped in the woods at Ohiopyle State Park, rafted, and had a great time, one of the highlights of my life. I’ve gone again a couple times, and I even took students on a small trip to whitewater raft in Kentucky.

That trip had its nay-sayers, too. Several students were ambitious organizers, helping myself and the other teacher in charge so this could happen, and my principal gave us his wholehearted support (and the money for the bus, which made the trip possible). But there were others who had myriad reasons the trip was a bad idea. The whisper campaign and teachers who had earnest conversations about things I may not have considered did take a toll and may have contributed to several students backing out.

It would have been easy to give up as the roadblocks grew against us going, just as it would have been easy (and cheaper) to stay home when I first decided to go rafting. Not doing it would have been easy to explain, with plenty of logical reasons to discard the idea. But the haters who denigrated the idea, and the frienemies who helpfully pointed out the potential pitfalls and lurking liabilities of going–they were a motivation to put on my best Alfred E. Neuman smile and insist everything was going as planned, better than, in fact.

Sometimes, negative people and unsupportive friends do stifle my mojo. No doubt, I’m as prone to succumbing to disparaging words–both from internal and external sources–as anyone. As a teacher and parent, I work to be an encouraging voice, challenging while supporting. I need those people too, the ones whose whipered “I know you can do it” resonates when I’m about to give up. But sometimes–and the bigger the challenge, the more I respond to this dynamic–proving someone wrong about my ability to meet a challenge is the underlying push that has made the difference. And for that, I am grateful.

When I Was More Innocent: Reflections on People with Differing Viewpoints, 2014 edition

November 9, 2014 r0b1nm4rkl3yLeave a comment

It is just that we should be grateful, not only to those with whose views we may agree, but also to those who have expressed more superficial views; for these also contributed something, by developing before us the powers of thought. ~Aristotle

Another election season has ended. I’m not especially thankful it ended, in large part because the business of campaigning in America never ends–it merely enters another cycle. The part of the election process which I am thankful for is this: people from various viewpoints who engage in questioning, discussing, and defending their views. It’s through those discussions that I have the opportunity to hone my ideas further–or, when I find my ideas to be flawed, begin the process of thinking through the core beliefs/problem/solution matrix that filters my attitudes.

Aristotle suggests that I should be grateful to those who expressed superficial views. He said that before 24 hour news cycles and Facebook memes were invented; if he were writing today, perhaps he would draw a line between the superficial ideas worthy of delving into, whether to repudiate or support, and those that should be ignored (…and blocked. The ability to block posts and people on Facebook is something I’m extremely grateful for!). Now society faces such an overwhelming influx of information that we too often wear blinders, fending off the overwhelming stream of facts, ideas, and appeals by only looking through our narrow lens. I’m guilty of it too–it’s a crucial coping mechanism for dealing with the onslaught of words and images we daily encounter.

But I embrace Aristotle’s concept. Considering views that differ from mine, or sometimes even superficially expressed views that I endorse, challenges me to work harder to explain–even to myself–why I hold the beliefs I do. I am pushed to examine the underlying assumptions I hold about the nature of the issue and my priorities as I answer, and I have to re-validate the data and facts that I’m using as evidence. People who disagree with me cause me to be a better critical thinker and more definite in my ideas–as long as I’m gaining that confidence based on thoughtful examination and not merely stubbornness, something I admit to at times.

I’ve framed this as a political injunction, but it extends through any ideas, opinions or creeds I hold. When I teach Sunday School (for adults–no one in their right mind wants me near children in Sunday School!), I’ve had fascinating conversations with classmates who hold opinions that baffle me.Those discussions, just like discussions I have about diet, health, education, relationships, nature, child-rearing–all thoughtful discussions–lead me to build a stronger understanding of the world and my place in it. I’m grateful for my opponents from the other side of the aisle, because they help me understand why I’m where I am and whether that’s where I should stay.

Family Ties (from 2014)

November 5, 2014 r0b1nm4rkl3yLeave a comment

You don’t choose your family. They are God’s gift to you, as you are to them. ~Desmond Tutu

In a few minutes, I’m going to head home from Parent-Teacher conferences to have chili made by my daughter Megan, who is home from Columbus for a couple days. We’ll sit at the table eating and chatting, and if Bethany has her way, we will play a card game called “Gloom” that we’ve planned to play but never made time to. It will be one of those Vonnegut “If this isn’t good, what Is?” moments.

My kids are high on the list of things I’m thankful for–and I’m not saying that because it’s a required part of the “Mother Job Description.” What I’m grateful for isn’t that I managed to follow the step-by-step directions to reproduce. Truth: Growing up, I’d never seen myself as the mother type. Even in my mid-20s, I was willing to indefinitely delay the becoming a mommy stage of adulthood. At best, I was an adequate mother who managed to mitigate at least some of my worst mothering mistakes by having terrifically talented, complex, interesting kids…which also compounded most of the challenges of parenting.

Anyway, we’re going to gather at a table and have chili that Megan made, and enjoy a few moments of family time–something that’s incredibly rare since my oldest two have scattered. Chris is nowhere near, but there are many times that I go on the Meatloaf philosophy: Two out of Three ain’t Bad.

The absolute best part of having my kids around–or even having them call or email, or send carrier pigeons or smoke signals–is this: I think all three of my kids are fun to talk to. They’re interesting, and they all know things I don’t know. For all the mistakes and “interesting choices” we made as the kids were growing up, the kids are all right. I can say without hesitation that I would choose each of them to be a friend of mine if I were to meet them now. To me, that matters.

So in a few minutes, I’ll head home from conferences to find a messy kitchen and noise in my usually silent house–and it will be good.

My Open Letter Resigning from The United Methodist Church (2014)

January 22, 2014 r0b1nm4rkl3yLeave a comment

On a Palm Sunday in the early 1970s, I was confirmed as a member of The United Methodist Church. I was excited to officially join my church, and I looked forward to being active in the large, dynamic youth group which became the cornerstone of my social life throughout my junior high and high school years. At the time, the extent of my church-related knowledge was this: Rev. Yocom would usually answer questions by telling a story about his life, and I looked pretty cute in my mini-skirt and mod white shirt with a band collar and lacy bell-cuffs. A product of the times, I was schooled in a combination of traditional Wesleyan theology (scripture, tradition, reason, experience) and popular theologies, probably summed up via a combination of Jesus Christ Superstar, Godspell, and—I’ll admit it—the Beatles. Those influences along with a Jesus people-esque emphasis touting “All you need is Love” and “God is Love” were the basis of my youthful spiritual foundation.

Now I’m embarrassed to admit I belong to the United Methodist Church. I’m appalled that when non-Methodists think of the church, it is most likely based on our draconian approach to dealing with issues relating to homosexuals and those called to minister to them, including Rev. Thomas Ogletree of New York and Rev. Frank Schaefer of Pennsylvania. I’m puzzled that when there have been opportunities for the church to at least acknowledge that wisdom is needed to help the church determine its role in ministering with and to gays, the church has shut the doors of communication, choosing instead to reaffirm its current position; the 2012 General Conference in Tampa, Florida, made headlines because of its refusal to consider an “agree to disagree” amendment on the topic when it was presented by Rev. Adam Hamilton of Leawood, Kansas, and Rev. Mike Slaughter of Tipp City, Ohio.

The church—any church, not specifically the United Methodists—has the duty and right to interpret scripture and other leadings however its leaders and people feel is correct. I don’t question that. At an organizational level, every church is a human-created and -operated entity that prays it is following the dictates of its understanding of what God requires of his followers. If the best minds and hearts of the Methodist church agree that its treatment of homosexuals and those who minister to them is God-driven, then I won’t question that its people are acting in all sincerity.

But I can’t continue being part of an organization that uses the Wesleyan tradition to exclude and marginalize others. The Methodist tagline—“Open Hearts, Open Minds, Open Doors”—is still emblazoned on the UMC website; it needs an added note: **unless openly gay. Inviting people based on the idea that we have open minds and open hearts, then slamming the door unless they stay in the closet—that feels like the type of mindset which compelled Jesus to overturn tables at the temple and play word games with Pharisees.

In fact, the Methodist slogan seems tailor-made to welcoming gays, inviting them to leave their closet behind to find community and fellowship with a local congregation. However, many Methodists I know champion the “love the sinner, hate the sin” mentality, a phrase which embeds judgment in a micro-aggressive claim of love. Christian theology via St. Paul claims “all have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God,” but my job is to love people and support them as they find their path. For me, labeling people as “sinners” is wrong. Jesus was harsh about people who were judgmental and hypocritical. I’m not in any position to throw the first stone—especially because I accept that sexual preference, like eye color and handedness, are inborn; critiquing how God chooses to create people is not my job either.

There are groups within the church which are working for equality and recognition. I applaud their efforts and believe they will ultimately make a difference. I’m not called to actively fight on this issue; I’ve struggled with this since 2005, when at South Hill United Methodist Church in Virginia, Rev. Edward Johnson refused to let a gay attendee become a member of the church. The church’s position on the issue hasn’t changed; I have. As an enthusiastic 12-year-old, I never considered asking questions about the church’s stance on homosexuality. At this point in my life, I cannot be officially listed as a member of an organization that judges my gay friends and family as unworthy of being treated like a child of God. Those who are fighting for change have my support—and I believe that the way I need to support them is to show that this issue matters enough to me that it’s worth leaving the Methodist church.

I’m proud that my own congregation is more inclusive, and at this point I intend to continue attending there as a non-member, but I’ve also attended a Quaker meeting that comes much closer to fitting my general theological understanding at this point in my life. Eventually that may become my “home church,” but my current Sunday school class offers opportunities for growth and fellowship, and I don’t want to leave that.

One of my favorite songs when I played guitar for my church youth group eons ago was “They’ll Know We Are Christians by Our Love.” That song is in now in the Methodist hymnal, and instead of long-haired teens with guitars leading it, adult organists perform elaborate introductions to signal the congregation’s singing. The last time I sang that song, surrounded by the beautiful stained-glass windows in my impressive sanctuary, I choked up. Who will know we are Christians by our love? Not our gay brothers and sisters, or those ministering to them. After all my words and justifications, that’s the simple explanation why I’m resigning my membership to the United Methodist Church.

Not For Veteran’s Day

November 13, 2013 r0b1nm4rkl3yLeave a comment

Note: I wrote this in 2012; I’m surprised by how much of it I still agree with.

Two days ago was Veteran’s Day. Yesterday Billy Owens’ birthday. In my mind, those are connected.

Billy was a student in my epic AP class close to a decade ago. He wasn’t the usual AP student, but he wanted a shot and worked hard to earn his place. After graduation, he went into the military, and he was proud of the time he served. I talked to him intermittently both while he was serving and afterwards, while he was a veteran heading to college. The story ends too soon, with Billy committing suicide a while back. I’ve lost track of time, but I know that summer I had two former students do that; this is a rough era for young people, and suicide stats are one of the starkest proofs of it.

That isn’t what I intended to focus on, though. The intersection of Veteran’s Day and Billy’s birthday have me thinking. As a quasi-pacifist, I can’t wave a flag and yell “hip hip hooray for Veterans” if there’s any chance that I’m also glorifying war (Yes, I know that as a member of Daughters of the American Revolution, I’m on a slippery slope using that criteria. Talk to my dad about it). One of the reasons I want to turn Quaker is because of their “Peace Testimony,” and as I’m writing this, I’m keeping their stances in mind.

When I started teaching, I was appalled that several special ed teachers used the ASVAB test, which qualifies a person for military service, as the major text in their room. They were prepping their students to be gun fodder–that’s the way I saw it then. I was pretty self-righteous about it, but at least I didn’t take to a bully pulpit. Usually.

In contrast, when one of my favorite students from the last couple years came into my classroom last month and told me he’s going in the Navy after Christmas, I nodded and told him that was probably an excellent decision. He’s a very smart kid, very personable–and for a lot of reasons, needs some direction and self-discipline– and he needs out of Lima. Many of my students are like that, needing some time to mature and learn skills, to figure out who they are while earning money and having a roof over their heads and a reason to get out of bed. College does that for some–but not all. The military is often the only other option, particularly in this job market. I hate the fact that there’s a decent chance he’ll be deployed in a war zone, but he knows the price he’s potentially paying for the shot at gaining maturity, experience, and a clue what to do with his life.

The change in my attitude reflects a greater awareness of the world and years of observing people. When I was a total pacifist, back when I honestly believed that with reason, love, and the right incentives conflict could be handled without resorting to throwing plates, fists, or bombs, my experience in the world was limited to people who had roughly the same assumptions about life and ethical constructs that I did. Debates about whether the car radio should play John Denver or the Partridge Family didn’t devolve to fisticuffs, and arguments about who should clean the bathroom at my college apartments may have involved snarky comments and pointed product placement (a can of Comet on the kitchen table eventually gets noticed), but again–no stitches or police were required.

And…as always…I’m a product of my age. It’s easy to say “War is wrong” when the only war you’ve experienced is Vietnam. I remember the older kids worrying about getting a draft notice, or trying to choose the best way to be 4F. I remember asking why we were fighting there, and the confusing answers I got–perhaps that was an early sign that I ask too many questions, but people tried to answer, each explanation tangling with another, slightly different one, to create a sticky web that lead out one way: War is wrong.

But that was a long time ago, and I suspect that if I go to a zoo, I’ll even see the zebra in shades of grey. The stark right/wrong viewpoint that worked even through much of my 20s and 30s is much muddier now.

At this point, I define myself as a quasi-pacifist. In no particular order, that means I believe this:

Choosing to not fight can be powerful. Gandhi and the Civil Rights movement proved that.
People have the right to chose to not fight, but they need to be able to do it from a position of strength; pacifism cannot stem from weakness or fear and be effective.
People need to know how to deal with school yard bullies, both as children and adults. Weak people are targets, but that doesn’t mean that the best (or only) answers involve brute force.
Physical Force or the threat of it is overused in daily life and in the political arena. Almost always, reason, negotiation, and proper understanding of core values will improve a situation.
However, evil and myopically-self-involved people (and groups of people) exist in the world. They cannot be allowed to hurt others–but derailing those people must impact the least other people possible, and all possible non-violent means must be used first. “Preventative war” is an unethical concept, and “Collateral damage” is a fancy way of saying “innocent victims.”
Emotional rhetoric on from any party in the situation does not mean violence is inevitable or will help. It’s a sign everyone needs time–like a week–in the time-out chair to think about what they’re doing. (My school and the UN both need time out chairs!)
The only use of force that I can embrace is to protect those who cannot (not will not) protect themselves. And again, non-violent means of to achieve that goal must be tried first.
The fights between people, like between students in my school, should not occur. We should be doing more to create non-violent interpersonal relationships.
The fact that the US military budget equals the next 15 countries’ military budgets combined is unreasonable and immoral.
People who choose to serve deserve all the honor and support our country can give them–and I don’t see our national policies doing that now.
The best way to honor and support our people in the military is to ensure they don’t have to go into battle, and when it’s unavoidable, give them materials and support, and get them out of it as soon as possible. Or sooner.
The high number of military and veteran suicides and PTSD means something is seriously wrong in the system, and we should be figuring out what now. Top priority.
There are many benefits to serving in the military, and I’ve seen many students gain confidence and become adults due to serving. Designing a National Service option/requirement should be investigated.

I started this by thinking about Veterans’ Day and Billy, and as a semi-literate somewhat- writer, I know that my conclusion should wrap up by tying all this back to Billy and Veterans’ Day. That neat ending eludes me–possibly because Billy chose an ending that doesn’t fit into a tidy, light paragraph. Billy and I discussed in detail why he went into the military, and he had many good reasons, reasons that my student last month echoed. All I can do is light a candle that the story ends up differently this time…for all the people serving.

Good Bye, Yellow Brick Road: My Ode to the School of Multiple Intelligences

June 3, 2013 r0b1nm4rkl3yLeave a comment

Note: I wrote this in 2013, and I was only an English teacher at Lima Senior for a couple of years after I wrote this. I teared up while re-reading it, and I stand by my belief that MI did incredible things and being part of it was the highlight of my career as a teacher.

I’m only going to be a teacher for the School of Multiple Intelligences for a few more hours. When I walk in school, after dawn comes and I’m more awake, I will be an MI teacher–but after my room is packed, my check out sheet is signed, and my keys are turned in, I’m simply a Lima Senior High teacher again.

Being an LSH teacher is a perfectly good thing, of course; I spent the first 18 years of my career doing being one, and I did a boatload of wonderful things as an LSH teacher–and I will again, no doubt. Here’s the thing, though: I did those in isolation, one teacher, a bunch of kids. I wrote a piece when we closed Lima Senior about the ending of that era, when we were closing the actual building and opening not only the new building, but also opening three small schools within the building; what strikes me now, after 9 years as an MI teacher, is how little mention of my colleagues or the larger school community were in that piece. It was the students and me, and any connection with my neighbors down the hall or the principals in the office was unusual.

At the time, of course, I didn’t see it that way. I assumed that my relationships with my department and my fellow teachers was perfectly normal. Then came MI.

Before the school opened, we had spent hours—days–no, weeks–in meetings about what “our school” should be like. Almost everything was on the table: schedule, electives, mission statement, even what our hall passes should be! Even the decisions that were studied by small groups eventually were decided by consensus, not vote, by the whole staff. We eventually learned which teachers orally processed ideas and options, not really committed to the stream of ideas they were spewing forth; they had to think out loud. We learned which teachers wouldn’t say a word through the discussion, but once they did, they were sure of their path. There were a few times, especially at the beginning, when decisions that we thought were made turned on a dime when one quiet, thoughtful Math teacher finally spoke up, saying she couldn’t support whatever that decision was…and the discussion began again. Ultimately, that check and balance made us stronger and more committed to our course of action. We knew what we intended, and even when we fell short (which happened frequently), we still had the vision in front of us–and our leaders and each other, trying to get it just a bit more “right” the next time.

Even after we opened, the discussions and the tweaking continued–and the self-assessment, wrapped up in those dreaded Barnhardt questions. I always threatened to miss the meetings where we had to argue through what rating we should receive on every criteria (citing evidence, of course), but the only time I missed on was when I was out of town on school business. I still think we should have had a voice in adapting Barnhardt, but here’s an important point: the process of discussing those ideas was what mattered; not the rating we gave ourselves. That process is missing now, and it’s impossible for the same degree of voice and interaction to occur in a staff of nearly 100 (MI had around 30 staff members). That’s a big part of what happened behind the curtain, where the students and the public didn’t see–and it’s a large part of what we are losing. Ownership. Autonomy. Partnership with people who have bought into the vision.

As my Facebook page and my phone contacts attest, it wasn’t just the teachers who mattered in MI. In the old LSH, my students were my most important relationship. In the new paradigm, the students were the whole reason we did it, and our goal was to build relationships with them that pushed and inspired them to do more than they imagined they could. And I am still finding daily examples in my Facebook feed of how well that worked. Students who would have fallen through the cracks in the old school have recently graduated from college–something I couldn’t have imagined for several of them based on where they academically when they entered MI. With around 400 students and about 30 staff members, no one was merely a face in the crowd. I could give example after example showing the relationship between teachers and students, and how that carried over into a higher commitment to doing their best on both sides; I don’t even know how to cherry pick an example. The kids matter, and I can find examples of every staff member going well above and beyond to prove it.

We started with a young, inexperienced teacher as our leader, and until Jeff, I didn’t know what it meant to be driven by a vision and committed to working it through. To this day, he is one of the very, very few people I have ever gotten into an actual “shouting” argument with–and there have been times since he left to play on a bigger field that I wish Jeff would come back to continue pushing us, even though I can imagine the arguments we would need to have! Until then, I’d never dreamed what it meant to have the support and respect of the principal, either. And……I’d certainly never imagined that I’d tackle a principal at a Christmas party to try to keep him from winning at Dance, Dance Revolution–but yep, that happened too (with a little help from another teacher–thanks, Melinda!) We were a community, with all the ups and downs, wounds and scars and blessings that implies.

With Jeff as our leader, we had the “rocks” of our foundation, which is the genesis of the oft-used phrase “MI Rocks!” When he left, we asked for and got the right to not just be at the table for the choosing of our new leader, but to run the whole process–and we eventually choose Jeff’s right hand, Sue. As different as her style was, her commitment to MI was every bit as strong. The “Rocks” still existed, but we had outgrown our vision statement; it was dated and generic for what we needed at that point. So…..after several meetings with no progress on a new vision statement, we decided on 10 Belief Statements. They are still the most lofty set of goals I’ve seen for running a school. (I will add them as a separate post when I get to school. I don’t happen to have them posted in my dining room)

I have been thinking about this writing for a week now, and have taken notes–which I have completely ignored as I’ve written in the dusky hours before dawn. I had some good ideas, and who knows, maybe some MI memories will be posted this summer. Or maybe the time will have passed. I’m busy getting ready to teach this summer at Rhodes, and to begin next school year in a different classroom with a different principal and a whole new set of conventions and expectations. Maybe I don’t have the emotional energy left to write more about it in the near future. My alarm clock has rung, and my day needs to start, so I can’t begin the litany of names and memories now.

Here’s my clearest image of MI, what I’ve been remembering this week: The first day in the new building, the first day MI existed. All the MI teachers wore their new,crisp, shining white MI shirts–Bill Blass’ best emblazoned with the MI logo. Students walking in were completely enthralled. Visually it was impressive–but there was something else: it was clear we were working as a unit, we were proud and excited–we were MI. And the kids were too. That’s what they walked in to discover that first day. We did it for them and with them—and especially those first few years, they recognized the difference.

MI existed because of the school reform movement. Bill Gates (via KnowledgeWorks) threw passels of money at us, making all the meetings and training and details possible. We’re closing not because of money, but because the enrollment in our district has gone down enough that keeping three small schools open is fiscally irresponsible. I know that, and I have to trust that everyone involved is going to do their best to make the “new, improved” Lima Senior better than ever.

I’ve learned more about what that means in the last few years, though. I’ve learned that true school reform doesn’t come from the outside-in or the top-down. It comes from the people in the trenches buying into the vision, then working their damnedest to make every day a bit closer to the vision than the previous day was. Will we do that? I don’t know. It’s too soon to tell. What I do know is this: For a brief, shining moment, there was MI.

54 Thoughts

May 7, 2013 r0b1nm4rkl3yLeave a comment

If you don’t dust, it will be waiting for you later.
You’re not listening if you’re mentally disagreeing while the other person talks.
Sitting under a tree looking at a body of water is better for your soul than a sermon.
Washing dark clothes with whites does not cause the apocalypse.
As the members of each generation die, the next generation comes closer to the finish line. And so on.
The slam of a wooden screen door as you run into the back yard on a summer morning doesn’t sound the same after you grow up.
Don’t tell me about your god; tell me how you treated your family and friends last week.
Throwing snow on an overheated car radiator is not as good an idea as it sounds like it would be.
I’ve reached the point where I look at pictures from my teens and wish I had realized how attractive I would have been if I’d believed in myself.
People who insist rap isn’t music annoy me even though I don’t like rap.
I believe in elves, fairies, and Bigfoot.
The tarot card I am the most wary of is “Justice;” I want Mercy, not justice–but that’s not a tarot card.
Naming your strengths and talents isn’t bragging.
I may be too late in learning that the mental, the intellectual and the physical parts of a person are intimately intertwined.
Very few chores are more important than spending time with family or friends.
Occam’s Razor. Use it frequently.
I spent years practicing to sit on Johnny Carson’s couch, next to Ed. Now I want to know if I could make Colbert truly laugh.
Many women spend years balancing between being Scarlett and Melanie. The women to avoid are the ones who tip the scales in either direction.
Don’t believe someone who says they like every kind of music or every type of books or movies; either their experience or taste is so limited that they don’t see the world outside of it.
Gas pumps should not play music, regardless whether I like the tune.
The advice from the movie Risky Business is wisdom worthy of Yoda, Buddha, and Jesus.
Personality traits are not gender-specific. The terminology we use to describe those traits, however, often differs by gender.
The Beatles were wrong. You need more than love.
When it’s 3 am, the clock is ticking and you can’t sleep, the mythologies you believe are more important than the truths you know.
The cat is both alive and dead. Accept it.
Self-esteem that is based on overcoming failure is far better than the tissue paper self-esteem fostered by happy face stickers and inflated grades.
We need people who are passionate about one or two things, no matter how arcane or off the beaten path the topic may be.
I require a trickster god.
Roseanne didn’t jump the shark; it was post-modernist in a medium that abhors experimentation.
Our society needs rituals to officially recognize change-of-life transitions such as moving out from your parents’ house, getting divorced, kids leaving–or returning–home.
More cowbell is always needed!
The Bible should contain writing by C.S.Lewis, Madeline L’Engle, Henry Rollins, Bruce Springsteen, and Thoreau.
Don’t trust anyone who claims to not have secrets; they lie.
Everyone should look in the Mirror of Erised once.
Telling someone “go to hell” is sometimes appropriate.
When this year’s students graduate, everyone who had Drew Chiles as a teacher will be gone from my school. Within that fact is a poem about how fleeting a teacher’s tenure is.
We need more dancing and less talking.
Christmas trees should have both twinkling and non-twinkling multi-color lights. And lots of them.
One of my first memories is JFK’s death; then MLK’s and Bobby’s, Vietnam protests, Kent State, and Watergate. I started with the loss of innocence; my cynicism is inevitable.
Everyone has a true age, the point where they are most themselves. That’s the age of their soul.
If I had three wishes, one would possibly involve a Yellow Submarine.
Children shouldn’t be discouraged from using the word “no.” It’s a word many adults do not use often enough.
Most people’s dreams are wishes, not action plans.
Parents and children would both be better off if parents understood that their goal is to be on the sidelines watching their kids walk the path, not using a machete to clear the way.
If you don’t know whether you’re Dorothy, the Tin Man, the Lion, or the Scarecrow, there’s a good chance you’re the Wicked Witch.
Doing yoga in the grass, under the trees on a warm summer day is better communion than grape juice and bread.
Not emoting all over the place is not the same as not having deep feelings.
People reveal more than they realize in simple conversations. Saying “I think I am a good student” is different than “I feel I am a good student,” for example.
Joss Whedon, Aaron Sorkin, Jon Stewart, and Michael Moore–this is the list of people I would like to work for.
Yes, I’m bothered that I didn’t list any women. If Ellen Goodman or Molly Ivins were still writing, they would be on the list.
Molly Weasley’s battle with Bellatrix was the best moment in the last Harry Potter movie.
The rubric I use as I unconsciously assess men may include columns marked Luke Skywalker, Han Solo, Capt. Kirk, The Doctor, Hawkeye Pierce, Jax Teller, and Phil Donahue. Anyone who doesn’t fit somewhere on there probably isn’t someone I can have an interesting conversation with.
Elderly people who live active, independent lives seem to have had a long-term commitment to physical fitness. That observation should lead to action.
Ultimately, Love wins.

Note: I wrote this on my May 7, 2013, my birthday. Fifty-four sounds so young now…and I stand by almost all of these thoughts as valid and true.

The Church of Jodi Picoult

August 13, 2012 r0b1nm4rkl3yLeave a comment

The longest hours of my life were the couple times I went to prayer meeting with Grandma. I was young, not more than eight or nine, and I have gauzy memories of sitting quietly in a small-town living room littered with lace doilies, surrounded by serious women wearing hats, dresses and semi-sensible shoes.

Not their fancy Sunday hats, of course–this was an every day sort of dress up occasion. God frowned if women were too dressy during the week–and if women weren’t dressy enough on Sunday. I learned that in junior high when I suggested God wouldn’t mind if I wore dress pants to church. (Apparently, God tolerated dress pants better if the person in question was on the Honor Roll at school.That’s part of the “Mysterious Ways” He works, I guess.)

They sat in the overstuffed living room, holding their Bibles and small notebooks with their prayer list. The kitchen was where I wanted to be, near the table brimming with pies and fruit punch, chicken salad sandwiches and potato salad, but no. That was for after prayer meeting. For the first hour, sitting piously in the livingroom was required, even by slightly squirmy children. If I’d been allowed to bring a book, Nancy Drew or the Hardy Boys and I could have weathered the hour quite well, but somehow, leafing through the King James version of anything didn’t catch my imagination quite the same way. All these ladies did was talk, then cluck and awwwww in sympathy, then talk some more. Every so often, there would be some silence followed by a jarring “Amen,” then back to talking.

There might be a tale of someone who had something very something exciting happening, a promotion or new baby. Or they might tell about somebody’s child who was struggling in school, or someone who was facing temptation–but it wasn’t gossip, of course. They had to discuss it to find out who needs prayer. Names and situations flew, intermixed with exhorting God to do something about so-and-so’s liver condition or their neighbor’s crabgrass–literal or metaphorical.

Do women’s prayer groups exist anymore? My observation suggests not, especially as the community social/spiritual outlet that Grandma’s meeting was. In fact, the women’s-only groups of the churches I know suffer from a distinct lack of participation. Life has changed, and we all have other obligations. Plus, prayer meeting… It sounds a little bit, well…old-fashioned. Heaven forbid that we be old-fashioned!

I don’t think the “prayer meeting” experience has declined, though–just the opposite, in fact. As I go through my list of female friends, almost every one of them is in a book club. Some of them, more than one book club. I’m not in a book club, and I had an odd conversation with someone recently who speculated that I didn’t really like to read that much because I’m not gathering with other women for a group discussion of a selected title.

That conversation amused me. I’m an English teacher. Reading isn’t just my hobby, it’s my profession–and possibly my religion. Yet in this day and age, the fact that I’m not on speed dial looking for a book club to join apparently leads makes it reasonable to question whether I am much of a reader at all.

Of course I’m a reader. At any given moment, I have Shakespeare, the complete works of Emerson, most of Thoreau’s writings, and the complete poems of Longfellow with me. I have Stephen King, Harry Dresden and Alastair Crowley, the Bible and Richard Foster’s works, too, toted around on my Kindle, available every time I have a moment. I do read, voraciously, spanning classics to best-sellers, fiction, poetry and drama to non-fiction and serious academic research papers; I just don’t belong to a book club.

Women in my generation and younger have opted for the book club paradigm instead of the prayer meeting. We are socializing in a structured manner, giving us an excuse to get out of the house all under the guise of “doing something important.” Book clubs are still the same source of gossip that prayer meetings were. They’re the same source of social interaction and peer group bonding. In fact, I know of book clubs that throw social events and sponsored educational events, huge affairs with major authors attending. It’s the prayer meeting/women’s circle vibe all over again, just light on the Jesus–except some church-based books clubs, probably.

Is this a bad thing? No. It’s just the thing. Neither good nor bad, but the way society is now. One notable difference: prayer meetings tended to be organized by churches, there was a sense of commitment to an organization bigger than the prayer meeting. Book clubs are generated on an individual basis often by friends, neighborhoods, or even online–there’s often no overseeing organizations such as church. No answering to a minister, priest, or principal. It’s a grassroots organization.

As I think about this, I remember how my sister would get the best gossip from my Grandma by earnestly asking, “Grandma, who do I need to be praying for in the family?” She found out things none of us knew because Grandma was so touched by her interest in praying for the family. Of course, I’m not suggesting her need for updated prayer was less than sincere–that would be heresy. Or at least a venial sin…if we were Catholic. However, it was always interesting to hear what she found out. I suspect that now, the day after book club meetings, the families of the book clubber are regaled with as many tidbits of gossip and information as my sister got by pumping—no, asking–Grandma for her prayer concerns.

(***and why is this titled “The Church of Jodi Picoult?” She’s an author who is a staple of many book clubs. Evidence that I don’t belong in book clubs is my fatwa against her since she wrote the cheesy, lazy ending in My Sister’s Keeper.)

“Live Long & Prosper” and Other Platitudes

May 24, 2012 r0b1nm4rkl3yLeave a comment

The final grades are in, and the lockers cleaned out. For our seniors, “school’s out, for summer…school’s out, forever,” to quote the great sage of education, Alice Cooper. All that remains are the goodbyes.

For most people, that’s easy: a few tears, a long hug, reassuring that they’ll remain close…on Facebook…forever. Then, with a brave smile and a wave–“good luck,” and walking away.

For me, though, saying “au revoir” to my seniors isn’t that simple. Philosophically, I can’t endorse saying “Good luck” as a platitude. I could wrap my logic in jargon and causal links, but the core of the reason is this simple: an overwhelming percent of my students believe that random chance, or at best, semi-random chance influenced by the most loosely defined causes, is the determining factor in their progress and success. After 26 years of discussions, essays, and status messages, I’m persistently struck by the variety of ways they credit luck, or some equivalent force, to things like passing the state graduation tests, completing school work on time, and even whether they make it to school before the tardy bell. Deep down, the belief that they are subject to the whims of forces outside of their control pervades my students’ lives.

Of course the roll of the dice impacts us all in multiple ways. As the popular bumper sticker says, “Shit Happens.” I’m sure that every holy book has some variation of that belief, wrapped in the guise of their deity’s capricious “Carrot & Stick Guide to Garnering the Gods’ Favor.”

But modern civilization–and modern education–are built on the diamond-hard assertion that peoples’ actions and choices directly impact their lives. My students say all the right things about making good choices and controlling their destiny…but when I listen closer, they usually do not take neither the blame nor the praise for their accomplishments; ultimately, the factors impacting their lives are categorized as “Shit Happens.”

So “good luck” doesn’t slide easily off my tongue as I say good bye. I’ve opted for “May the Force be With You,” in some cases, and “Live Long and Prosper” in others, but generally, an awkward, “Stay in touch. You know how to find me,” may sound diffident and glib, but for me, that’s more sincere than a chorus of “Good Lucks” streaming on banners attached to pegasuses as they fly over a rainbow. I do like staying in touch. I do like knowing “the rest of the story,” as Paul Harvey would say.

And as I watch the rest of the story unfold, I notice one thing: whether the student rolls all sevens in life, or is kicked in the teeth, luck only bares a portion of the credit.

Practical Math

May 18, 2012 r0b1nm4rkl3yLeave a comment

Note: I wrote this in 2012. It’s still all true, maybe even more true–except for the number of tech-related devices I carry at a time. My phone now replaces most of those!

I like technology. In my purse right now, I have a Livescribe pen, a digital camera, a couple USB cords and a recorder that I can talk into and download what I say into my computer, where it appears as typed words—often word soup, but even that fascinates me. Technology makes sense to me the same way that shopping for shoes makes sense to some women I know. I’m certainly not going to be the person who claims texting hurts communication, or that twitter is killing society–a sizable portion of my life in online, and I’m a firm proponent of tech in education.

However, the fact we can technologically do something doesn’t mean it’s the best way to accomplish the task. Just because we have the toys doesn’t mean we should play with them. To be bluntly specific, because of technology, we are turning students into accountants.

Every high school I know of requires teachers to keep their gradebooks online, and those gradebooks can be accessed by parents and students from any computer with internet access. That sounds like a terrific idea, giving the parents and students detailed information so the home can partner with the school to improve the student’s understanding and achievement I like being able to tell students to look online to make sure I credited all the assignments they have emailed me or to understand why their grade changed dramatically in the past week. Having continual access to a student’s grades is the type of idea that makes a great sound bite and gets unilateral support—who can oppose parents and students having the data to understand the progress the student is making?

Welcome to the dark side of the online gradebook. One issue is that students live in an “instant gratification” society, and the ability to see their grades in real time feeds that jones. This week, I’ve had students hand me a paper, then say while they are still holding onto it, “So what’s my grade now?” If I haven’t put it in by the end of the class, there’s so much sighing and eye-rolling that I feel as if I’m surrounded by a flock of Scarlet O’Haras.

There’s another trend that shows students are becoming accountants After accessing their grade, some students will decide that they’ve “learned” enough, and not even attempt an assignment that doesn’t impact their grade in a concrete way. They’ll calculate points and percentages, then determine if the homework assignment will make a noticeable difference—it may seem as if every little bit helps, but in practice, that’s not true. Students who struggle with the state math tests often have a Einsteinian grasp of “gradebook math,” even with weighted grades or categorized assignments.

The flip side of that is students who don’t have the score they (or their parents) want, so they audit their points with the fervor of an I.R.S auditor who is bucking for a promotion. Every piece of paper they’ve written their name on needs to be accounted for, and they often try to dicker for missing points or the ability to turn in very late work—they almost always have a ten point paper from seven weeks earlier that would pull them up a percentage point, getting them that much closer to athletic eligibility or the next higher grade.

What do grades mean? Does having the technology to micro-manage grades lead to the student “learning” more? Maybe instead of having more trainings to make sure teachers and parents can use the technology correctly, we need discussions about how to use it wisely.