What Really Matters about Youth Athletics

     My son. Stephen, loves sports--everything about them. Of course, he mainly loves playing them. Now a high school senior, since he could join school athletics beginning in seventh grade, he has been in a sport every trimester: volleyball in the fall; soccer in the winter; track--pole vaulting--in the spring. When not doing school sports, he may go to the driving range or the climbing gym, and in the summer goes on long hiking trips. He's very fit, and while he's unlikely to play anything on the collegiate level, he certainly will play intramurals and perhaps club sports.
     Last Wednesday Stephen came home from soccer practice in a great deal of pain, limping badly. A lingering injury seemed to have exploded into something worse. The initial diagnosis was that he might have torn the labrum in his left hip. The next day he went to the orthopedist and received the relatively good news that the problem is a badly inflamed hip flexor. He was told to use ice, take ibuprofen, and totally rest for three weeks. That's where the real pain hit. Only three weeks remained in the season, when the championship tournament would take place. Yes, the physical pain was great. But the real agony sat much deeper than that. Between punches on a pillow, Stephen kept groaning, "I've been playing with most of these guys since kindergarten. It isn't supposed to end this way."
     In that moment Stephen captured the real reason playing school sports matters. It's the relationships that come with being part of a team. The joy of being a contributor in some fashion. The camaraderie which buoys you through struggles and lifts you even higher during moments of exultation. Teammates who understand, even if they don't really know what to say. Learning how to work with others towards a common goal. A coach who talks with you about ways you can still help the team through your presence...and holds out the carrot of maybe a few minutes in the tourney if you do what you're supposed to do to heal.
     In this era of what's been called the professionalization of youth sports* in our culture, I fear we've lost sight of that, even though we still say all the right things. We ask kids to specialize at younger and younger ages; we have them play more and more intense matches; we spend increasing amounts of money; and we travel further and more often. To what end, exactly? A college scholarship? A shot at the pros? In some cases even studying the odds does not shatter the dream delusion. Whether a kid shows it outwardly or not, with all this comes increased pressure. Yes a few thrive on it. Some aren't fazed by it. But many feel tremendous anxiety. Meanwhile, we see more catastrophic injuries at younger ages. We see kids burning out, forever done with a sport they once may have loved.
     The problem is not just club sports. At games at all levels, in any sport I've observed, there's an edge, almost a nastiness, among the fans, primarily parents. Yelling at officials has always occurred, but it's become more regular and sometimes abusive. Recently I've observed parents singling out players on opposing teams and taunting them. Once all this behavior reaches a certain level, players become keenly aware. It's not exactly positive role modeling.
     As a former athlete, I wonder how I would have fared in today's environment. I don't think I would have liked it nearly as much as I did. As competitive as I am with my self, my personality and values might have led me to crumble under the external pressure. Plus I revel as much in the process as any product. And that would have been a shame, because I attribute so much of what serves me well know in all aspects of my life to what I learned through my soccer "career."
     My athletic dream for Stephen has never been more than he love sports as much as I did, that he gain the sort of timeless and boundless lessons I did. Athletics should be an essential part of a holistic education, one which helps us become more fully human. That, and fun. Especially fun.


*See "How Kids Sports Turned Pro" in the September 4, 2017, issue of Time.

Educational Value(s)

                Three things recently have converged to prompt this post. The first two are entwined: it’s budgeting season, and that means we have to look at tuition rates for the coming year. Those topics have been foremost in my mind. In fact, early Monday morning I was thinking about them when CNN had a piece on whether or not a college degree is a worthwhile investment.

                In fact, that’s a rather hot topic right now. I Googled “Is college worth it?” and received 725,000,000 hits. The recent press about the Thiel Fellows who were granted $100,000 to skip college and begin start-up businesses drew some attention. It’s prompted, of course, by the epic tales of people like Gates, Jobs, and Zuckerberg having not completed college and endingd up incredibly rich and influential. (I’m reading Isaacson’s biography of Jobs—stay tuned for my thoughts when I finish.)

                I understand the concerns. After all, in a few years my ninth grade daughter and sixth grade son will be deciding on college. The costs have skyrocketed to what a few years ago would have been incomprehensible levels. Most of the anger is directed at the colleges, but I think there is plenty of blame to go around. Certainly colleges took advantage of the economic prosperity we enjoyed for a while, and they also reveled in the demographic bubble and consumer anxiety that led to hyper-competitive admission activity. At the same time, though, people began looking for features and amenities that really had little to do with the ultimate goals of college. Take a look at some of the luxurious student centers. Heck, take a look at some dorms.

                Let’s briefly recap the general points on each side of the argument. Yes, I know that I will be oversimplifying.

The anti-college side argues that one can succeed without college. After all, look at the examples above. These are people who dented the universe, and they didn’t finish college. The anti-college folks also say that most of what one needs can be better learned through experience; that one needs to be in the real world, not the ivory tower.

The pro-college side points out that the average person’s potential income is much higher with a college degree. The CNN piece pointed out how unemployment levels drop as degrees grow higher, i.e. people with a master’s are less likely to be unemployed than those with a bachelors, who are less likely than those with just a high school degree, and so on.

With just a little bit of basic Internet research and a modicum of logic, I could support or refute either one of these arguments. Even without the research, I would ask some simple questions. For example, I’d ask if Steve Jobs really makes for a compelling example since he is such an outlier. But I’m not interested in intellectual debate here, particularly over what strikes me as an ultimately unsolvable issue.

My issue with both sides is much more basic than that. It’s one in which my idealism trumps my practicality. It’s one at which I can hear some people scoffing. It’s one that I sometimes forget amidst the realities of life. It’s one I hope I never lose.

My issue is simple…but it’s not. Both sides reduce the value of a college education to pure dollars. To return on investment. By extension, I guess this thinking applies to all education.

It’s worth more than that. At least, it is when done right.

It’s about the growth that happens when someone discovers potential she had never perceived in herself. It’s about a person becoming enamored with a topic he had once dismissed. It’s about being challenged by the experiences and perspectives of those around you. It’s about those aha moments. It’s about a young person figuring out what sort of person he or she wants to become…and doesn’t want to. It’s about pondering the ever-morphing complexities of the human experience. It’s about training the mind for even heavier lifting. It’s about making a contribution. It’s about life-long learning.

I’d also contend that society would be much better off with a more highly-educated populace. Imagine, for instance, if people were better critical thinkers when it comes to political elections. In another example, we might be less doomed to repeat history if we understood its arc better. Perhaps we would consider meaningful discourse to be more than the current cacophony of sound bites and vitriol.

I know these are rather quixotic musings. Sometimes I also wonder if all the tuition I pay for my kids is worth it. But I believe that, ironically, when we think of education in purely financial terms, we actually cheapen it. We shouldn’t think of it in terms of price point. After all, ultimately it’s priceless.

Successful Thinking?

     This morning Ian Jukes’ Committed Sardine blog alerted me to John Maxwell’s How Successful People Think: Change Your Thinking, Change Your Life. More specifically, a link brought me to this slideshow highlighting the main topics of the book. If you don’t feel like clicking over, here’s the list:

·         Figure out where you need to focus your energy, and then use the 80/20 rule

·         Smart thinkers expose themselves to different ideas and types of people

·         It's one thing to have an idea, another to follow through

·         Thoughts need time to develop. Don't just settle on the first thing that comes to mind

·         Smart people collaborate with other smart people

·         Reject popular thinking (which often means not thinking at all)

·         The best thinkers plan ahead, while leaving room for some spontaneity

·         To think differently, do different things

·         To appreciate others' ideas, you need to value other ideas

·         Have an agenda -- for the day, and when you meet with people

·         Reflective thinking gives you perspective and confidence in your decision-making skills

·         Get over negative self talk. Winners think in terms of "I will" and "I can"

·         Creative people are dedicated to ideas

·         Naturally optimistic people find it hard to be realistic thinkers

·         At the end of the day, it's important to remember we can all change the way we think

·         Smart people make good decisions

This, of course, prompted some big, hairy questions:

·         How is success being defined in here?

·         What do I think about each of these items?

·         Can these be taught/learned?

·         If these are common to successful people, and they can be taught, shouldn’t these be near the top of any curriculum?

What do you think?

Gut Check

            Consider two people. First, think about someone in a typical student leadership positions—team captain, student council officer, et cetera. Now, think about a student who reaches out to the “weird new kid.” Who shows greater leadership? Who may grow up to become a stronger leader?[i]

Leadership is a hot topic right now, particularly in independent schools. Many schools have added leadership to their mission statements. It seems simple enough. After all, of course we want to foster leadership. And I believe that leadership can be developed in many ways. Plus I think everyone has opportunities to lead and must be ready to grasp them when they appear.

I appreciate all the traditional ways schools have helped students develop their leadership skills. Many schools have added special leadership programs; kids go off for special leadership experiences; and I’ve toyed with the idea of teaching an elective on leadership. Many such programs are excellent, and I’ve certainly grown through participating in some. Still, I feel we’re missing something.

I think about great leaders from history. (Rather than name them, I encourage you to create your own list.) I recall examples of truly inspired leadership shown by young people. They all have one common secret ingredient.

Courage.

For kids to develop leadership, we have to allow them to face discomfort. Even more, to wrestle with big, hairy challenges. They must be able to stare at themselves in the mirror and promise themselves that they will do what is hard and uncomfortable and right. They have to grow more and more resilient.

Contrast this to another hot topic in schools—snowplow parents. Unlike helicopter parents, who hover and are ready to swoop whenever necessary, snowplow parents try to clear any obstacles from their child’s path. They jump out in front and smooth the way.

That leads to a logical question: How does a child learn to lead if he or she is always following?

The quick answer is that he or she can’t, except in theory. And in theory leadership can be taught. But in practice leadership is learned mainly by discovering what lies in one’s gut.

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[i] The answer is, I think, “Depends.” Many factors could come into play here. I’ve seen fantastic student leadership in those positions, but also some poor leadership. Please understand I am not disparaging those roles. It’s just to start myself—and, I hope, you—thinking.

An Athletic Education

                Watching Game 2 of the World Series last night, I had one of those moments that reminded me why I love sports and their educational value.

                I think it was in the fifth inning. I say think because, despite the tension of the game, I was dozing off a bit. Suddenly there was the Rangers shortstop, Elvis Andrus, lunging full length at a sharp grounder straight up the field. He snared the ball, managed to prop himself up on his other elbow, and flipped the ball out of his glove towards second base. Second baseman Ian Kinsler arrived just in time—he had been shaded towards first base and thus had extra far to go—to catch the flip right before the runner arrived. Crisis averted. Without this play, the Rangers probably don’t win. (Amazingly, the defensive duo had pulled off a pretty sweet play to end the previous inning as well; it just wasn’t as spectacular.) I snapped wide awake.

                Let’s think about what qualities were captured in this play. There was pure athleticism on display. Both Andrus and Kinsler made great individual efforts. They reacted instinctively, and Andrus was amazingly innovative. At the same time, they had to collaborate in perfect sync. In those couple of seconds, we saw the result of thousands of hours of practice. Interestingly, in the past both players have been criticized at times for making too many errors, so they certainly have shown resilience. Andrus also put aside individual ego for the team. After game, when asked about the play, he said, “I always say when you're not hitting good, you better do something good defensively.” And he did get a key hit in the ninth inning rally.

                Certainly my experience playing soccer drilled into me the importance of these qualities. In fact, I think about the reasons I was drawn to the sport. First, I simply found it fun because it challenged me in ways no other sport did. Second, soccer provides ample room for tremendous individual creativity and flair within a strong team concept. One of my favorite players was Vladislav Bogicevic, a Yugoslavian who played for the New York Cosmos in their glory days. Bogie had magical skills and amazing vision. Rather than look to score, he continually tried to make the unexpected killer pass. He derived pleasure from untangling the knot and from making others look good. I found myself trying to play that way (admittedly, sometimes to my coaches’ consternation, when I would not take certain shots). Today, I frequently say most of the qualities that serve me well emerged during my soccer career.

                This notion calls to mind the story I once read about an upper-level math teacher’s response to the inevitable question, “When are we ever going to use this?” He told the students that they might have to, but they very well may not. Then he compared it to lifting weights as part of training for a sport or for better health. They weren’t, he explained, doing math for the sake of doing math. They really were pumping intellectual iron to strengthen themselves. The analogy works better than the response I’ve often given to that question: “You may, or you may not. But you want to be ready because you never know what life may throw at you.”

                All schools actually teach two curricula: the explicit and the implicit. The explicit is what you normally think of—the objectives, standards, content, skills, et cetera. The implicit curricula encompass all the other lessons that occur along the way, such as self-discipline and perseverance. Both certainly matter; and, structured well and intentionally, they feed each other in a virtuous circle. It can happen anywhere. I know people who talk about their theater experiences, for example, in the same way I talk about soccer. In fact, the implicit curricula is learned in very powerful, often longer-lasting ways than the explicit. I don’t recall much calculus, but I do remember the logical precision that Dr. Haytock required. And while my touch on the ball is now rather pathetic, I draw on other skills every day.

How Time Flies!

            A few days ago a post appeared on the Fast Company blog that made me think, “Wow! I want one of those gadgets. In fact, I want one for every classroom. I want one in my house. I think every family needs one."

No, it’s not some super-cool tablet that will replace the iPad. It’s not a robot that will do routine chores. It’s a clock. A clock that takes a full year to complete its cycle: “This Seasonal Clock Will Keep You thinking About the Present.”

            In many ways time is a form of currency. How we spend it sends signals about our priorities, and we never seem to have enough of it. We often say that we didn’t get something done because we ran out of time; what we’ve really done is choose to use that time doing something else. We all have 24 hours in a day, although our ultimate amount of mortal time obviously varies. And when we do toss off that mortal coil, how do we want the epitaph to read—“He simply ran out of time” or “He made the most of it, and it mattered”?

            That’s pretty big picture. As the article points out, “our obsession with small increments of time often keeps us from focusing on the bigger picture.” This manifests itself in some obvious ways in education. Curricula is organized into discrete units, usually with a defined time frame and marked by a test at the end. Add enough of those and it’s suddenly time for a “final” exam. Seat time becomes a key measurement of assumed progress. Grade levels and divisional organizations become major transitions, like flipping months on a calendar and then buying a new one (a metaphor becoming rapidly obsolete, but that’s another post). Teachers fret about having to make sure students are ready for the next level. A student having to apply to another school in 4^th or 8^th or 12^th grade imposes another deadline.

            The problem with all this? Too often we feel that we have to finish kids. And we often want it to happen on our timetable, not theirs. Plus it should come with a certain payoff.

            Such an approach is not a healthy one for children, particularly when it comes to their long-term development. It fosters a product-focused orientation, one in which a certain result takes on too great an importance and becomes a measure of self-worth.  That can obscure what led to the result, which is what really needs to be examined for growth to occur. Similarly, struggles become “catastrophic” and provoke finger-pointing rather than reflection and lessons in determination and resilience. It undermines natural inclinations to love learning for its own sake. (Read more about this in an earlier post on Carole Dweck’s Mindset.)

            What are the not-so-long-term effects of this? Recently National Association of Independent Schools president Pat Bassett was part of a panel with the president of Georgetown, the president of Stanford, the dean of the faculty of Arts & Science at Harvard, and the Director of the Initiative for Innovation in Engineering Education at Olin College. Afterwards, Bassett wrote on his blog:

           

The university leaders also confirmed with what a professor at Harvard told me last year, that 30–40 percent of the undergrads are on anti-depressants, and 10 percent of girls suffered from eating disorders. While the university leaders were quick to point out that their universities were mirroring national data, it is particularly interesting to me that the students at these colleges had already “won the lottery” by matriculating at places that were nearly impossible to get into for mere mortals, and yet so many were still stressed beyond belief and needing medication (prescribed or, probably in much larger numbers, self-medicating — see the next bullet point).

Footnote to “success-driven parents and college counselors”: beware of what you wish for: What we actually do well is place students in the “best match” college, where they will be successful and can pursue interests that will keep them engaged and balanced.(http://www.nais.org/about/article.cfm?ItemNumber=155607&sn.ItemNumber=4181&tn.ItemNumber=147271)

In The Path to Purpose: How Young People Find Their Calling in Life, educational psychologist William Damon cites a meta-analytic study of college students which points out that 45% of them show serious signs of depression. Per that same study, only 20% could be called “truly purposeful.” The rest possess a “foggy self-identity” and can see only the short term rather than have long-term aspirations. I can’t help but believe that this is caused in part by children feeling rushed and thus pressured at younger and younger ages.

            Helping young people remain life-long learners has longer term benefits. Particularly in this day and age, when so much changes in a constant swirl, people have to be able to react and adapt and evolve, and quickly. It’s also a matter of long-term health and quality of life.  In A User’s Guide to the Brain, Dr. John Ratey talks about the nuns of Mankato. Many live into their nineties and even past one hundred; on average they live much longer than the general public. They also show far fewer cases of all mental and neurological diseases. Why? It’s not just living in a convent and perhaps escaping many of life’s stressors. The nuns vigorously play intellectual games, engage in debates, and earn advanced degrees. Many of the nuns donated their brains to science, and examination revealed unusually great dendritic growth. The brains of those nuns who were more intellectually engaged showed more growth than others. The implication, as Ratey explains:

Like the nuns of Mankato, if you constantly challenge your brain to learn new things, you may develop more neural connections that help you delay the onset of Alzheimer’s disease, recover from a stroke, and live a longer life. And your life will be more interesting. It’s never too late to start: studies show that the adult cortex retains its basic plasticity. You can indeed teach an old dog new tricks. (364)

That depends largely on how we nurture our pups and make sure they get what they need when young. As a former colleague of mine is fond of saying, “It’s easier to build children than to repair adults.”

            It’s a tremendous challenge to keep the long view in mind. We want the best for our children, and in this hyper-competitive world we fear their falling behind in the race to whatever goal. Life comes with certain realities, including deadlines. Sometimes I watch both the children here and my own kids and feel as if I’m holding a stopwatch, ready to click the buttons as milestones are passed. I can grow impatient; I think, “Shouldn’t you be able to do this by now?!?” I have to take a deep breath. I remind myself of what really matters. And I realize that I need to trade the stopwatch for one of these new clocks.

I Take the Challenge

                About two weeks ago, I posted a challenge.  I asked readers to complete the phrase “School as a ___.” I would then have the challenge of completing a “meditation” explaining the completed phrase.

                There were several strong suggestions, and I would have found any of them fertile ground. But “crucible” both struck me as most interesting and received two votes…so “School as a Crucible” it is.

                Before I launch into this, I need to make a disclaimer. As this is a “meditation,” I’m really figuring this out as I write after having done just a bit of poking around the Internet and thinking. It isn’t thoroughly edited and polished. Apologies for that!

School as a Crucible

School as a crucible: a sturdy container in which the contents are challenged, altered, and fused to create beauty, strength, and resilience. (Kara Name’s comment on the post posing the challenge)

The crucible has always been a melting pot for valuable materials, the origin of new alloys, materials of innovation. How should the post-industrial Crucible melt and blend ideas? (from the website of Crucible: Research in Interdisciplinary Design)

Kara’s quotation defines a crucible. While the basic purpose of a crucible has remained the same, they actually have a rich history. The first ones date from the sixth/fifth millennium in Eastern Europe and Iran. You can follow their development in terms of composition and specific purpose through the Iron Age and Roman Era and Medieval Period right into current days. (If you’re really interested, click here.) Of course, the advances have appeared more rapidly as science and technologies have improved. In a way, the history of the crucible could become metaphorical for the history of modern human development in some ways. Certainly you could draw enough lines to branch into multiple areas.

So here I will draw my first one to school—the really big one. How we educate our children—the whole system of education—really follows this same pattern. Particularly now, science and technology have started having an enormous impact on the possibilities within education. We know more and more about the human brain, which promotes a new form of cognitive science far removed from simple behaviorism and rote learning. Technology has shifted humans from pure consumers of information to creators and collaborators, and great schools are preparing them for that role. In less grandiose terms, think about the time-honored research paper. The process and preparation of the final product will never again rely on index cards. We may even have to scrap using the word paper. Research project, perhaps? Why not a multimedia presentation on…?

But that doesn’t really capture school as a crucible. Consider it context, and it becomes relevant.

 Just as the basic purpose of a crucible has not changed, the basic purposes of education have not really changed even if curricula, settings, approaches, et cetera have. A crucible takes materials and breaks them down. They are then often recombined to form something new and better. Education is not just about giving students knowledge and equipping them with skills. Often it involves breaking down their assumptions and misunderstandings; then the effective teacher helps a student reconstruct the new points into greater understanding. That’s the Socratic method in a nutshell.

                The process, of course, involves both science and art. There are objectives and measurements and certain set processes. Formulae must be followed along the path to higher levels, i.e. drill your math facts so you can do algebra without having to think about basic computation. That’s all scientific to a degree. The art comes in when the teacher heats the crucible. Keep the flame too low and the right challenge isn’t there. Overheat things and the stress impedes the desired learning.  One has to add just the right elements to the mix. That becomes more like my grandmother making chicken soup than any recipe.

Interestingly, I see some of the other ways in which the word crucible has been used fitting in with the metaphor. Crucible: Research in Interdisciplinary Design ( the Cambridge, England-based group cited in the second quotation at the start) focuses on interdisciplinary education. This approach breaks down the traditional academic disciplines in the hopes of forging new understandings. We hope that students do this, but I suspect it occurs mainly when we rearrange programs for this express purpose. Crucible is the name of software used for the peer review of computer code. This approach harnesses the power of collaboration, a method that draws on each person’s respective strengths and allows him or her to learn through the process. Arthur Miller wrote The Crucible as a commentary on McCarthyism, but one could also see it as a story of adolescent rebellion against adult repression.

Finally, the crucible is the last stage of recruit training for the U.S. Marines—when a Marine has to draw on all the knowledge and skills gained during boot camp. Some of you may recall this commercial for the Marines that highlights a glimmering sword being forged.

In the really big picture, that best captures school as a crucible. Early on, a student enters the crucible. For the next number of years, myriad experiences are added to the combustion. When all the factors combine correctly, the student emerges not as something new, but as an improved version of him- or herself.

Taming My Lizard Brain: An Unforeseen Lesson from Blogging

                Renowned business writer and marketing expert Seth Godin frequently writes about the “need to ship.” To oversimplify, per Godin you can have all the great ideas you want; but unless you ship, they don’t really matter. In other words, you have to deliver the product. Literal in certain areas, the idea of shipping becomes a metaphor for just about any endeavor. When people don’t ship, says Godin, it’s frequently because their “lizard brain” takes over. This is the brain stem, the reptillian base of our brains, and we react in the simplest possible fashion and allow the fear to take over. If we could, we’d drop our tails and flee.

                Writing this blog, I feel real pressure to ship at least once per week. As someone pointed out to me, “You create a monster; then you have to feed it.” At first this was easy: I was new to my school, wanted people to learn about me and my ideas, had plenty to say. It was purely rational, grounded in my cerebral cortex. Now, shipping has become harder. I find myself asking questions that, while logical, still drip with juices of the lizard brain. What am I going to say this week? Haven’t I already written about that? Is this worth posting on? What are people thinking about my posts? Have I gone too far in some of my points and overly offended someone? Would anyone notice if I didn’t post for a while? If I stopped posting at all? Why isn’t my mind working the way I want it to? When did I forget how to write? How in the world does Godin manage to post every single day, and it’s almost always great?

                Suddenly I think about students, and the dominant emotion turns to empathy. We demand that they ship, on time and at a high rate of production. Some of the work is fairly mechanical, and students can simply churn out the product. But the really important higher-level stuff such as creation, analysis, synthesis? We bring kids along so that they can do that sort of work, and they often do it surprisingly well for their respective ages. At any level such work takes time and space for reflection, yet we keep kids hopping. I have to wonder how this affects deep, long-term learning.

Consider the demands of a school day for a developing child. (I’ve shadowed kids in various grades for a day, and it’s exhausting.) Now imagine that you have to go home and have products ready for the next day.  Meanwhile, the frontal lobes of the cerebral cortex don’t fully mature until the late teens and early twenties. All told, it’s rather amazing how well kids can keep the lizard brain at bay.

Another blog post seems a bit less daunting.

Your/My Challenge: School as a _____

                Recently I read Peter Gow’s What is a School? A Philosophical and Practical Guide for Independent School Leaders, Trustees, and Friends. Peter is very well known in independent school circles, for both his prolific work and his sharp thinking. (I learned of the book when I discovered Peter’s wonderful blog: Not Your Father’s School.)

                The book presents a “series of meditations,” each of which considers the qualities of a successful school by considering school as a ___. Some of his topics include: a name, a utopia, a laboratory of human experience. I won’t list them all because I hope Peter sells more books; and I don’t want to limit you as, hopefully, you take my challenge here.

                Please add a comment and fill in the blank for me. Be as literal or as creative and funky as you desire. But just give me the word or phrase—nothing more than that. Then I’ll choose the most intriguing one and expand on the idea. I’ve challenged you. Now make it challenging for me.

No App for That

When I first saw this cartoon by Hugh MacLeod (follow his wonderful work at www.gapingvoid.com), I found myself recalling the recent story about an Israeli couple who named their baby daughter Like.  Yes, after the Facebook feature.

For me, angels symbolize our higher natures. I see them as somehow having transcended human limitations and having achieved a perspective most of us lack. They embody (is that really the right word?) ideals to which we should aspire. I see them as particularly discerning.  In that regard, the humor becomes rather obvious and ludicrous. Like many humorous pieces, however, this one points to a more serious issue.

Clearly the Israeli couple has a penchant for unusual names. Their first two children are Honey and Pie. They had a clear reason for naming the girl Like:

When they chose the name Like, the sound was at least as important as the meaning, explained Lior.

Like had a nice and [sic] international ring to it, he said, and Facebook had become the icon of today's generation.

"If once people gave Biblical names and that was the icon, then today this is one of the most famous icons in the world," he said, joking that the name could be seen as a modern version of the traditional Jewish name Ahuva, which means "beloved." http://www.haaretz.com/news/national/inspired-by-facebook-israeli-couple-names-their-daughter-like-1.362118

Still, while I’m trying not to be judgmental, this strikes me as implusive for many reasons. But this is not a post about parenting decisions. However, because the like button represents “the icon of today’s generation,” this naming story hits at what struck me about the cartoon.

                The combination of our hectic lifestyles and the technological ease of social media has made some things too easy. Have an opinion on something on-line? Simply click if you like it or not. I understand the thinking behind this: that if your “friends” like it, and enough of them click on it, then you’ll probably like it also, etc. It’s the collective wisdom of crowds notion. The feature has become so ubiquitous that this effect has become weakened. Meanwhile, what about the rationale? What about paying attention to nuance? Yes, people can provide comments. Most that I’ve seen aren’t much deeper than the button and often resort to vitriol.

                Similarly, being connected all the time, particularly with smartphones, sometimes leads us to do things rather impulsively—fire off that angry e-mail, leave an accusatory message—before we have all the information. I almost did just this the other evening, when I heard something that really ticked me off. Luckily I was in a place where it would have been totally inappropriate for me to be tapping away. By the time I left the event, I had calmed down enough to know that I needed to gather more information before making any conclusions. I have other strategies I use at various times. For instance, I often draft e-mail in Word so I don’t send something off before I’m ready; sometimes I write the response I’d like to send in the heat of the moment but know I shouldn’t. Still, I make mistakes. And, no, I’m not going to share any examples of how I learned my lesson the hard way.

                Like the angels in the cartoon, we risk giving away some of our key human qualities. We need to think quite carefully about our relationship with technology—and how it’s affecting our relationships with others. Human identity and interaction is too complex for reduction to binary code.

                That’s why great schools remain vital. They are about so much more than the transmission of information and quick, over-simplified analysis. Yes, a student can study something and say he likes it. But he also has to be able to articulate why in a stylish and graceful fashion, to connect it to other understandings, to consider it from multiple perspectives, and to see why it all this matters. Plus so much of what happens in those schools comes down to meaningful human relationships. When I send my children to school, certainly I worry about their academics. But I also pay my tuition because of the people with whom I want my kids spending time as they form their identities.

Ultimately, no matter what advances are made in artificial intelligence, I don’t foresee a day we can simply download an app for wisdom. We have to keep channeling our inner angels.

Thanks to My Two Best Teachers

                Recently New York Times op-ed columnist Charles Blow wrote “In Honor of Teachers” because he believes too many educators are unfairly maligned. A few days later, the paper’s education blog had a post “What Teacher Would You Like to Thank?” Serendipity strikes again, I mused, since I recently had written about my concerns that our culture is losing a sense of gratitude. I also found myself trying to answer the question.

                The late Fred Frank, my advisor at Allegheny College, tops the list. I decided to become an English major while taking one of his intro level courses, and three years later he sponsored my thesis. During my junior year, I took Prof. Frank’s seminar on Gothic Literature. I had no real interest in the topic…but he was the professor. The first day he showed up as a headless spirit, which captures why I loved him as a teacher: the incredible passion for his subject and how that infused his teaching. My thesis topic ended up growing out of a small piece of that course, but in a way that followed my own interest in more contemporary literature. During my thesis, Prof. Frank allowed—actually encouraged—me to dive head-first into any rabbit hole I discovered. Some worked and some didn’t. What stuck more than anything was the faith he showed in my emerging intellectualism.  During the thesis time he also asked me to teach his seminar one day, the first time I ever really taught a class. But the real highlight of my relationship with Prof. Frank came right after I passed my oral defense. For the first time, he called me not Crotty, but Mark. I felt I had graduated.

                In high school my sophomore English teacher was Brendan Loonam. We were a motley crew: grinds, nerds, jocks, druggies, loners…and a teacher unlike any I’d ever experienced before or since. I’m not sure exactly how Mr. Loonam did it, but he created a dynamic in that classroom which made us all practically pant in anticipation of what we might think about on any given day. He prodded and poked; he asked giant questions; he was contradictory and contrary; he told us things maybe he shouldn’t have. More than anything he made it matter. In his class I discovered Shakespeare and Springsteen, and I learned to think about how and why both speak to us on multiple levels. My friend Rick and I used to look forward to the days Mr. Loonam had hall duty at lunch. We’d sneak past the other proctors, who would have insisted on seeing our non-existent hall passes, so we could visit with him.

                I feel very fortunate to have had two teachers like this in my life. However, it also saddens me a bit that I feel there is a wide gulf between these two and what I recall about the rest of my educational experience. Much of that is simply because I was the type of kid for whom school didn’t work very well, although I did fine and wasn’t any sort of problem. It’s not that I had many bad teachers; in fact, several were quite good in many ways. I don’t question their dedication. I truly am grateful for what they gave me in terms of basic skills and knowledge. But they weren’t passionate and inspiring; they gave me no sense of wanting to be like them in certain ways.  Prof. Frank and Mr. Loonam did that. More importantly, they helped me begin to envision a better version of myself.

                I know I never properly thanked Mr. Loonam. Sadly, he left the school at the end of that year. No one knew if he resigned or was fired; we all had our romantic versions of what happened. I like to imagine him standing up for some noble reason. know he ended up tending bar after that, and I hope he eventually went back to teaching. (I Googled his name and saw a link to a Facebook page for a teacher in New Jersey.) If he’s still alive, perhaps he’ll get on-line someday, do a little ego surfing, and stumble upon this blog post.  I draw some solace from my often mentioning him when I give presentations on different educational topics.

                I’m proud to say that a couple years into my teaching career, I wrote Prof. Frank a long letter in which I tried to articulate his influence on me. I probably failed miserably, in that it was still too soon. I know I talked about my teaching and things I had picked up from him in that arena. At that time, however, I could have no idea how the larger lessons would resonate almost thirty years later. Still, I know he appreciated the effort. I had signed the letter “Crotty.” His reply began with “Dear Mark.”

                What teacher would you thank? What would you say?

If Buildings Could Speak: A Final Flood Lesson

                Almost two weeks into the school year, and the flood has receded (pun fully intended) into an increasingly distant memory. Five hundred kids bustling through the building each day helps one focus on more immediate issues. At the same time, the flood recovery holds important lessons about working with those kids.

                When the flood first occurred on August 5, I figured there was no way we would be able to open on the 23^rd. I put on a brave face and spouted confidence, but now I can admit to serious doubts. Adding to my frustration was this coming after we’d had to open late last year because of construction. Then we had numerous weather-related interruptions, beginning the second day of school and culminating in two closures because of ice—one of them unprecedented in Dallas. So the thought of a delayed opening had my nerves churning.

                I found myself desperate hoping, willing, praying the recovery would go faster. I begged for constant updates. I kept asking what else could be done. How were the workers going to make sure we opened on time?

                In reality, they were doing everything they could. The damage recovery people had all the machines going and were adjusting them accordingly per multiple measures. The carpentry folks had to adjust depending on the rest of the progress. For example, they couldn’t really do anything about millwork until sheetrock had been repaired and or deemed sufficiently dry. Once the crew could work on things, they put in some amazing hours.

                But I kept wanting the progress to be faster. Thank goodness I couldn’t control things and we had experts guiding us. If we had rushed things, we could have ended up with damage that emerged weeks, months, even years down the road. Rotten wood and sheetrock, warped millwork, mold and mildew, insects—who knows what else? Call it Hurried Building syndrome (apologies to David Elkind, but appropriate for the metaphor).

                We had to create the proper environment and then be patient, allowing the process to develop per its own unique, complex characteristics. Had we not been able to open on August 23, things would have continued to improve until we were ready. And we could have trusted that we would open at the appropriate time.

I’ve said many times that at a great school every nock and cranny has potential as a powerful learning space. In this case, the school building itself has held out some powerful wisdom.

Gratitude

                Thank you.

                I mean, thanks for reading this blog. Seriously. With all the media vying for our attention all the time, you have gifted me with some of your mental bandwith. I’m honored, humbled, and appreciative.

                I wanted to say that right away because lately I’ve been thinking quite a bit about the notion of gratitude, and I realized that I’ve never thanked my readers except for those who have spoken to me around school or left some of the few comments. (Hint, hint.) That’s not right. So thank you. And now maybe I won’t appear hypocritical in the coming rant since I offered myself as Exhibit A.

                I fear that as a culture we’ve lost a strong enough sense of gratitude. Sure, we still offer the mannerly thanks that come with social niceties. I’m talking about a deep sense of gratitude, one that manifests itself in the way we live our lives each day. Instead, I see more and more people who seem frustrated when things aren’t just as they want. I’m sure you can think of examples, and I know I’m guilty also. (For a hilarious take on this, you might want to watch Louis CK’s “Everything’s Amazing, Nobody’s Happy.” I’d embed it, but parts push the envelope a bit, so it’s your choice. Thanks to Jonathan Martin of St. Gregory’s in Tucson for leading me to it.)

                Among other reasons, the video is one of the things that prompted me to start reflecting on this topic. Recently I’ve been very grateful for certain things (read flood posts 1 and 2). I’ve witnessed a few beautiful expressions of gratitude. Sadly, I’ve seen some of just the opposite. I began to wonder if I do a good enough job of expressing my thanks to people, and to fear I take too much for granted.

                I have my own theories on why our culture has become this way. We’ve become a microwave age, accustomed to instant nourishment and gratification. Much of the media of modern technology encourages narcissistic behavior; and while it raises the possibilities for amazing discourse and moving towards collective wisdom, too often it becomes polarizing vitriol. It’s as if we have to build ourselves up by knocking down others. Socially, economically, materially, whatever-ally—we feel immense pressure to keep up and assert ourselves and feel affirmed and right. And so much of it is very public.

                More than anything, I think we’ve lost a sense of perspective—one that recalls how much is really quite good for many of us. It’s as if we would go to buy a bar of Ivory Soap and focus on the .56% which isn’t pure. None of us is owed perfection. And if everything were perfect, then what would we appreciate? After all, as I once heard Arlo Guthrie point out at a concert, you can’t have a light without a dark to stick it in.

                I think gratitude is also one of the most important qualities we can try to help young people have. Anytime I engage in some sort of Portrait of the Graduate exercise, it’s always one of the first things I think of for the “Attitudes” column. Service learning, chapel, certain essential questions, social-emotional curricula—schools can address this in many ways. I also like to remind students that just through the lucky circumstances of their birth, they are in the top 5% of humankind in terms of wealth, health, security, and potential. That’s not a bad starting point. To help them maintain this advantage, their families have given them myriad opportunities.

                It strikes me that people who feel a deep gratitude are happier. They are more content, more at peace. They focus less on what’s missing. They have a true sense of meaning and purpose driving their lives. It’s not that they see the glass as half full. They realize, as a student once told me, the glass is always full. Even if there is no liquid, it’s full of air, that most vital substance.

                I also believe that gratitude is contagious, and I encourage you to start an epidemic. Think about all for which you are grateful. Your talents, your blessings, certainly. But, most of all, the people. And don’t stop there. Let them know. Surprise them with an expression of your gratitude. Just something small and heartfelt. A call or a note. And tell them why. Try genuine words.

                Thanks much for reading. And I’ll be even more grateful if you share your thoughts.

               

A Teacher's Epic Failure

                I’m having trouble figuring out exactly how to approach this particular blog post. I feel very compelled to write on this topic, but I’m muddling through such a mélange of thoughts and emotions on the topic, ranging from total outrage to deep empathy. It particularly galls me that I’m moved to write this post by an article I came across on the first day of school, when idealism and the belief in possibility flow more than any other day of the school year. The article is from a publication focused on the Philadelphia public schools, and it is a veteran teacher’s explanation of why she helped her high school students cheat on the state tests.

                Some of the teacher’s actions include:

-    Answering students’ questions;

-    Pointing to the part of a passage where an answer could be found;

-    Giving students definitions of unfamiliar words;

-    Discussing reading passages students didn’t understand;

-    Commenting on students’ writing samples;

-    Pointing to correct answers to difficult questions.

Why? She has several explanations. The teacher said most of her students were reading well below grade level, poorly prepared, unable to relate to the middle-class content of the tests, and had major challenges in their lives. She considers herself a good teacher and wishes she could have found a way to address students’ deep-seated academic deficiencies and the troubling school culture that she believes was created by high-stakes testing. According to her, school administrators did nothing to stop “constant” and “widespread” cheating, even mandating certain protocols against the legal guidelines. She claims that teachers who questioned the system were coerced into cheating: “My only defense would be that I lost track of what was right because it was so stressful to be there… It’s easy to lose your moral compass when you are constantly being bullied… I was someone I didn’t recognize by the end of my time there.”

At various points in this blog I’ve written about my concerns with standardized testing, mainly as a very limited and limiting tool. I’ve talked with enough public school educators to understand the pressures they feel because of the state testing. Cheating scandals have erupted in 22 states and D.C. I know I would hate working in such circumstances. I’m trying to walk in this teacher’s shoes. I get what she is saying, and I really do feel for her…to a point. But then my outrage erupts again. At the risk of seeming sanctimonious, all I can say is, “Really?!? Give me a break.”

I want to give this teacher the benefit of the doubt, at least when it comes to her motivation. One article I read on the case says, “She considers herself a good teacher and wishes she could have found a way to address students’ deep-seated academic deficiencies and the troubling school culture that she believes was created by high-stakes testing. Instead, she took another route.” Perhaps she felt she had no other choice except to engage in what she called “self-styled subversion.” But we always have a choice to do what’s right. We may just not like some of the consequences of taking that stand.

There are two ultimate ironies to the story. I like to take the first as another sign of cosmic justice—that perhaps the teacher’s accusations are actually false alibis. The district is investigating 28 schools because of suspicious results on the 2009 tests. This teacher’s school is not among them.

The second irony captures so many of the issues raised by the story.  It’s much sadder. The teacher says, “I wanted them to succeed, because I believe their continued failure on these terrible tests crushes their spirit… I wasn’t willing to say, ‘Just do your best.’ They were my students, and I wanted to be there for them.” The article doesn’t say how the students did on the state tests. In some ways it doesn’t matter since the results are so tainted. Plus what those students really learned—the lesson that is going to stick—is that their teacher helped them to cheat. So they may have “passed” the state test, but their teacher failed a much larger one.