Post-Surgery Reminder

     On April 30 I had some extensive ENT surgery. I guess it was pretty necessary since when the doctor had examined me, within seconds of looking up my snout, he proclaimed, "My gosh, that's a mess!" It turns out that my septum was badly deviated in two places. The doctor also determined that he should remove my tonsils and trim parts of my uvula.
     The recovery has been tougher than I expected. I figured I would be out of school for a couple of days and work from home during that time. Then I'd be right back at it. After all, about ten years I'd had a hernia repaired on a Friday and been back on Monday. (Please, no comments about the aging process, especially since today's my birthday.) Little did I know, and no one had really warned me. For about two weeks I had terrible congestion and quite the aching throat. It wasn't really in pain; it was more as if I were walking around with a bad sinus infection. I lacked my usual energy, and I couldn't sleep well because of the other symptoms. Of course, I kept overdoing it and pushing at least a bit too hard each day. I probably wasn't resting enough and may have slowed things down. Meanwhile, I couldn't take anything to alleviate the congestion that exacerbated the other issues because it was part of the healing process.
     Finally I'm beginning to feel myself once again--I'd say about 80%--and I can now see why this surgery will prove beneficial. Plus it's given me another anecdote/metaphor for an important truism about children and their education. As much as we may try to force it, certain parts of the process simply have to happen organically and on a certain timetable no matter how much we may wish otherwise.

Sleep and Dreams

                I was a bit surprised to realize that I had not posted on my blog for a month. I say “a bit” because it wasn’t a total shock. The week before break is always crammed full as I wrap up certain things, and the week back is a whirlwind. Plus I think during the break I detached from school more than I have before. I did a few essential things, but spent very little time checking email (and even less responding), scanning Twitter (and none Tweeting), or perusing blogs (and not even jotting down ideas for my own). I didn’t do much thinking about school at all.

                So what did I do? I spent more time with my wife and children. I exercised more than usual. I played with our delightful new kitten. I had a Christmas day snowball fight with my son (yes, in Dallas—second time in the past few years). I read purely for pleasure. I watched plenty of soccer matches. We saw Les Mis and Lincoln. My wife and I had marathon viewing sessions of Lost. I slept more and better than usual; I even napped a couple times.  Often I simply was.

                This near-total hiatus was not planned or in any way intentional. Perhaps that is why it happened; it’s the whole “best laid plans” notion. In fact, I had some things that I had planned to accomplish, but I simply let them go as, in some ways, time got away from me in the best sense. It was almost a new form of flow, feeling transcendent while not being too caught up in anything.

                I think it also happened because my body and mind were screaming, “Give us a break!”  Not from any particular item, but from a series of stressors over several months. And before you jump to conclusions, remember that extreme positives also stress the system, just in a different way.  For me, such situations manifest themselves in less and worse sleep. I’d compare my situation to a sleep study cited in Po Bronson and Ashley Merryman’s NurtureShock. Adults’ sleep was shortened to six hours per night. After two weeks they reported they were doing fine. Yet on a battery of tests, they proved as cognitively impaired as someone who had stayed awake for 24 straight hours (44). I know that for a while I simply was not functioning at my best.

                Of course, most of us know from experience that lack of sleep means poorer functioning…even if we like to claim it doesn’t. The reason is simple. As John Medina explains in Brain Rules,

The bottom line is that sleep loss means mind loss. Sleep loss cripples thinking, in just about every way you can measure thinking. Sleep loss hurts attention, executive function, immediate memory, working memory, mood, quantitative skills, logical reasoning ability, general math knowledge. Eventually, sleep loss affects manual dexterity, including fine motor control (except, perhaps, for pinball) and even gross motor movements, such as the ability to walk on a treadmill.

                When you look at all the data combined, a consistency emerges: Sleep is rather intimately involved in learning. (163)

Two questions are thus begged. How, beyond the obvious, is it involved in learning? What are the implications for our hard-working, highly-scheduled children?

                According to NurtureShock, sleep loss weakens the body’s ability to extract glucose from the blood stream. This is the body’s essential energy stream. Without it, the brain suffers, particularly the prefrontal cortex, which is responsible for executive functions such as orchestrating thoughts to fulfill a goal, predicting outcomes, and perceiving consequences. A tired brain also more easily becomes stuck on wrong answers, even known wrong answers, without being able to develop another solution. Furthermore, sleep is when the brain shifts portions of the day’s learning to more efficient storage regions of the brain. This occurs particularly during stage 2 non-REM sleep, a slow-wave period without dreams. In short, “[t]he more you learned during the day, the more you need to sleep that night” (34).

                As for children, they spend about 40% of their sleep time in that slow wave stage, or about ten times what adults spend. Meanwhile, a young person’s brain is very much a work in progress until around age 21, with much of that taking place during sleep. Some scientists even theorize that sleep loss in children can cause permanent damage in brain structure. It may also be tied to ADHD and obesity.

                Yet children simply do not enjoy enough sleep. NurtureShock contains some concerning statistics. Half of all adolescents average less than seven hours of sleep per night, and children of all ages get an hour less sleep each night than they did thirty years ago. Not surprisingly, 60% of high school students report extreme daytime sleepiness. Yet 90% of American parents believe their child gets enough sleep. I wonder how these numbers compare to the statistics in independent schools such as mine, with such a focus on achievement.

                Many points contribute to this sleep loss. Overscheduling of activities, heavy homework load, lax discipline, technology in the bedroom, ignorance regarding the issue—plenty of blame can be doled out proportionally depending on the particular situation. Culturally, we also seem to take pride in claiming we don’t need much sleep.

                Ironically, often we sacrifice sleep—or that of our children—for the sake of chasing dreams. At some point we all must ask, in seeking that proper balance, “At what cost?” My recent awakening in response to that question has left me in better shape to not only go after those dreams, but to fulfill them. Isn’t that what we want for our children?

Driving Lessons

Last week my 15-year old daughter, Kate, got her learner's permit. One of those wonderful moments, when little kid giggles of excitement merge with tangible signs of maturity and responsibility. Saturday was the big moment, the first time she would be behind the wheel of something powered by an engine since the tiny little racers at Legoland.

Kate is a superbly responsible young person, with an impeccable sense of control and enviable self-discipline. When she says she will do something, check it off the list. She is a quick study on most topics. As for driving, she has a healthy amount of fear.

I imagine you think you know where this is heading...that she had some sort of wreck. Thank goodness, no. In fact, she is doing quite well. We've stuck to parking lots at an office building on a Saturday and at a dying mall and streets in our neighborhood. Gradually we go on slightly busier streets.

Watching her learn and trying to help her, I have been struck by something that we as adults often take for granted. Driving a car, even in quiet areas, is a quite complicated task, with dozens of things to keep in mind while anticipating what could happen. (And don't forget the rather unnatural degree of trust we grant everyone else on the road.)

I have found myself wondering how much of school must often feel like driving to students, especially at those moments which really stretch them beyond a comfort zone. Students have to process an unbelievable amount of information and stimulus throughout the course of a day. When I have shadowed students, I feel exhausted by the end of the day. Actually, about three-quarters of the way through the day. And that's when I have the advantage of experience. Then they have after-school commitments, homework, chores...maybe a bit of free time. Frankly, I find it quite remarkable most do as well coping with it all as they do. They have learned to do much of it automatically, just as adults drive.

On some level, that is good. They are developing some key habits and skills. However, when learning is involved, I wonder about the long-term value when there is such a potential lack of mindfulness. Yes, we want students to be able to utilize certain skills or pull certain information automatically. But I wonder that the sheer amount of stuff means that we sacrifice real depth as students' brains motor along on auto-pilot. That's when "doing school" does become a Race to Nowhere.

And let's think about when and why many car wrecks: a driver becomes careless, perhaps over confident or less vigilant. There's the real lesson about both driving and quality learning, not just for Kate and her fellow rookie motorists but also for all of us teaching them.

What's the Big Hurry?

     This past Saturday The Dallas Morning News had an excellent Local Voices column by Emily Worland, a teacher at Marcus High School in Flower Mound: "The gentle, ‘no tears’ formula for AP exams." Her basic thesis is that "The AP program as it stands creates a misperception of college expectations and sets students up for handouts that simply won’t exist." Some of the reasons are programmatic, but many are developmental. (Read the column here.)
     I recall the last time I taught an AP course. It was AP Composition. Ironically, I felt that I didn't help the students improve as writers nearly as much as I could have in the time allotted. Why? Because so often I had to take extensive time to show them how to structure formulaic responses to certain types of questions.
     Beyond challenges such as this one, not many high school students can function at the level expected in most college courses. Yet a distrubing trend has arisen. AP courses used to be the domain of exceptional seniors. A while ago more juniors began taking them. Now sophomores. Middle schools have pre-AP tracks. A few years ago a prospective family with a rising kindergartener asked me about AP courses in upper school, with a focus on a particular subject.
     I'm reminded of select sports, in which kids are asked to choose and specialize at younger and younger ages. Yes, many love the sport. But many end up injured or burnt out.
     I have to ask: What's the big hurry?

Working or Grinding?

            Today the Harvard Business Review blog had a post by Tony Schwartz entitled “The Magic of Doing One Thing at A Time.” It raised the usual question about work habits and made some good suggestions on increased productivity. Two paragraphs in particular jumped out at me about the deleterious effect of most people’s work habits:

The biggest cost — assuming you don't crash — is to your productivity. In part, that's a simple consequence of splitting your attention, so that you're partially engaged in multiple activities but rarely fully engaged in any one. In part, it's because when you switch away from a primary task to do something else, you're increasing the time it takes to finish that task by an average of 25 per cent.

But most insidiously, it's because if you're always doing something, you're relentlessly burning down your available reservoir of energy over the course of every day, so you have less available with every passing hour.

Schwartz is writing about adults—those who, in theory, have developed the skills and self-discipline to handle the demands of their jobs. (Read full post here.)

But in reading the post, I couldn’t help but think about the way we ask young people to go about their lives. I won’t delineate every detail here. Yet I encourage you to spend a few moments pondering a typical 24 hours in the life of a student, especially one at a school with a culture of high achievement.

The Difference a Letter Can Make

                Last Thursday Dr. Kristen Ohlenforst [i]presented “Helping the Racing Child” at our first Parents’ Association speaker event for the year. We asked Dr. Ohlenforst to come as a follow up to our screening last spring of Race to Nowhere, an event she facilitated.  (You can read prior posts on RtN: this one, that one, another one.) She made a great number of wonderful points and gave sage advice with concrete suggestions.

                Immediately Dr. Ohlenforst stressed an important reality—that no one is going to change the complex socio-cultural system which has produced the issues captured in RtN. It comes down to family choices based on values, beliefs, wishes, et cetera. Another key factor is how we talk to our children about these issues. The questions we ask, the attention we heed to certain particulars, the feelings we expose, the words we use—kids pick up on these things immediately.

                Similarly, certain aspects of school are not going to change. There are going to be assessments and homework; there are going to be areas in which students shine and areas in which they struggle. As in anything else, for a young person to progress and thrive, he or she is going to have to work hard. A student should no be allowed to see that as optional. School is inherently going to bring with it a certain degree of stress. That can be okay. As Dr. Ohlenforst pointed out, the right level of stress actually serves as a motivator. The problems arise when the stress grows too great, even if it’s just a bit too much over a long period of time.

                Since Dr. Ohlenforst emphasized points about the language we use, I began thinking about one of the most popular words used to describe curricula: rigorous. It’s hard to argue against rigor; certainly we want students pushed and prodded. But let’s consider what that word really means: “rigidly severe or harsh…severely exact or accurate.” When applied to weather or climate, it means uncomfortably severe or harsh; extremely inclement.”  The very Latin root of the word refers to “stiffness.” Think rigor mortis. I’m reminded of Dr. Ohlenforst telling us that too much stress beginning at a young age can actually cause someone’s full brain growth to be smaller.

We need to change just one letter for a better word to describe what we should want student experiences to be.

Vigorous.

            Think about the meanings of vigorous: “full of or characterized by vigor… strong; active; robust…energetic; forceful…powerful in action or effect.” Vigorous plants and animals grow well. The root refers to energy and and has ties to thrive. Other words that come to mind are vibrant, vivacious, and invigorate. They all suggest life and joy. No undergrown brains there.[ii]

That little single-letter change holds massive implications. After all, other than our actions, language is our most powerful tool in educating our children. The conversations we have with them are crucial. Yet they often can prove troublesome in obvious and hidden ways. Richard Weissbourd explores this idea in his wonderful book The Parents We Mean to Be, and he provides many talking points and strategies for conversations with children, teachers, coaches, and other parents. I highly recommend it as a follow-up to Dr. Ohlenforst’s presentation. To Dr. Weissbourd, all of this is a moral calling, one operating in “the deepest forms of love” (Kindle edition, loc 3095). I find that truly invigorating.

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[i] She also is a very talented artist. See http://www.ohlenforst.com/.

[ii] All dictionary information taken from www.dictionary.com.

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.

Growing Conversation, Growing Courage

I love serendipity. In several places recently, I’ve seen references to Seymour Sarason’s seminal book And What Do You Mean by Learning?  (I haven’t read it, although I should have. So many books, so little time…) In particular, while looking at a presentation by education reformer Will Richardson, I saw this quotation from the book: “Productive learning is the learning process which engenders and reinforces wanting to learn more. Absent wanting to learn, the learning context is unproductive or counterproductive.” The passage encapsulates many of the thoughts swirling through my mind since our evening on Race to Nowhere.

It also links well to many of the points made that night. To help us gauge the overall tenor of reaction, we gave the audience two index cards. One was for them to make note of something they could change in their own lives. This card went home. On the other card we asked for something directly related to school. As we read through the comments, we saw four general categories emerge:

·         Teaching Children How to Learn—Most said there is too much focus on grades and competition, with some references to all-around perfectionism.

·         Support System for Children—People want more conversation and awareness regarding the stress students may feel.

·         Whole Child—This category was a bit of a catch-all, with topics ranging from play to creativity to individual passion.

·         Outside Work—Most the responses simply called for less, and even no, homework.

These are all so complicated and intertwined that it’s difficult to know where to begin. Indeed, the key first step may be parsing exactly what questions need to be asked—ones that cut at the issue. Also, the same human elements that have plotted the sort of course depicted in the film drive our current concern about it: love for our children and worry about their future.

                The Sarason quotation above provides a solid benchmark by which we can ponder some of the issues captured in the four categories. Let’s take the issue of homework. First, it’s difficult to assess homework load because it’s very individualized. I’ve talked to students in the same classes and heard widely varying answers about how long their homework took. It depends on their grasp of the material, work habits, efficiency, perfectionism, drive, et cetera. Second, I know some schools have tried to ease the stress by incorporating plans such as no-homework days or weekends. Students at those schools reported this simply increased the load on other days. Some of this occurs because over the past twenty-five years or so, schools have responded to familial calls for schools to include more and more in their programs without removing anything, all in a more competitive culture.

                I’m not opposed to homework. But we need to reconsider it in terms of the quotation and the issues raised by the film. Here are just some of the questions we need to explore:

·         At what age should homework begin?

·         What is an appropriate/reasonable amount at each age?

·         Is the homework being given simply for the sake of giving homework?

·         How does this homework extend student learning?

The answers to these questions intersect with thoughts on the other categories. The right sort of homework, for instance, will help children learn how to learn. That’s part of their overall development in many ways. Humans are learning creatures, and the better we are at it, the more we will thrive in any area. I often say that most of what serves me well now came from my soccer experience rather than school. Speaking of which, rethinking homework also can allow room for out-of-school activities. Of course, families must do their part in not over-scheduling kids with too many demanding commitments. All together, perhaps kids then won’t be so tired—one of the main impediments to effective, joyful learning.

                Untangling this knot will be a long, hard process requiring two things. One, conversation. Two, courage. Both are growing.

Post-Race Commentary—Take #2

                In “Post-Race Commentary—Take #1” I focused on some overall impressions of Race to Nowhere and the subsequent discussion. The piece has a rather typical essay-like framework. For this post, I’m going to take a different approach: bullets, fired almost in scattershot fashion. Each will be some point that struck me as telling or worth some thought, and each certainly contributes to the larger discussion.

·         Almost everybody in the film looks so tired.

·         The film points out so many issues that I’m surprised it omits another one: how this can shape a child’s mindset. I wrote about this early in the year in a piece title “Perception and Perspective.”

·         When I’m observing classes, I watch what the kids are doing just as much as I watch the teacher. In the film, except for one snippet, the kids in class are doing nothing but sitting. They’re not doing; they’re not making; they’re not talking. I am confident they’re not listening. Put all that together and I’m sure they aren’t learning…except for some lessons we’d rather they not get about learning.

·         One of my favorite moments: the young woman who says that the worst question an adult can ask is “And?”

·         Another favorite moment: I forget who says it, but it’s the comment about how we teach everyone as if each is in the top 2%. I’d add that too often we push kids to be in the top 2% in more than one area. That’s why we often treat kids, as it’s put in another catchy line, like “little professionals.”

·         That leads to one of my criticisms of the film. At one point we’re shown Bill Gates, Richard Branson and a couple other people as examples of folks with little college who have done wonderful things. People such as them are not the norm; they are not even a minuscule percentage of that top 2%. The overwhelming majority would benefit from a top-quality education and need it to thrive. Plus even for the exceptional, it doesn’t happen without really hard work and perseverance. Read Gladwell’s Outliers to get a good sense of how even geniuses have to grind it out.

·         Similarly, let’s not forget that the film is a documentary, one with a very particular agenda. While I happen to agree with the basic philosophy of that agenda, in many ways the film is excessive. Many of the examples are extreme. But maybe that’s what is needed to force an examination of a real problem.

·         Many people were very compelling, but for me two really stole the show. I forget the first one’s name, but he is the teacher whose father works in a psychiatric ward. His mix of passion and intellect were awesome. The other is Denise Pope, who works at Stanford. I highly recommend her book Doing School.

·         I find it ironic that the film highlights Challenge Success and several people from the education school at Stanford University. I admire them and their work…but Stanford is one of the institutions that students chase in this race. Stanford exacerbates the problem as much as anyplace.

·         The AP biology teacher points out that he cut the homework in half and scores went up. I applaud his courage, particularly in a course where people judge the quality of the teaching by a single measure. But I’d also like to know what type of homework he was giving. I don’t believe homework is necessarily bad and that it should be abolished. I believe fervently, however, that we need to rethink the purpose and type of homework typically given.

What moments in the film stand out to you? How would you boil down the message?

Post-Race Commentary--#1

                This past Friday we hosted a screening of Race to Nowhere, followed by some discussion. I’m still trying to crystallize the essence of all I saw and heard. In most ways, it affirmed my thoughts in a pre-viewing post.

                The film provokes quite a visceral effect. When slapped in the face, the reflex is to hit back. In the film targets abound. Media; technology; demographics; a competitive culture and its definitions of success; parental pressure; a lack of appreciation of learning for growth’s sake; career and job fixation; demands of the next level; No Child Left Behind; messages sent by the school—all probably deserve some of the anger and associated blame. Certainly I have cast blame. I recall several years ago, when a dean at a leading university declared very publicly that high-pressure schools needed to stop sending them burned-out kids. I e-mailed her and asked when schools such as hers would stop making kids believe they have to burn themselves out to gain admission. I wish I’d received a response, because then I could better understand the pressures she had feeling from someplace.

                Now, as the leader of a school ending at 8^th grade, I’m seeing the same issues regarding high school placement as I saw about college. I underestimated them, but they are very real and very understandable. I’m glad that as a parent I don’t have to go through it. For the past week I’ve seen the agony and the ecstasy piqued by a decision made by “the one perfect school for me.” First, among many good schools, there is no perfect one. Second, in this case the goal is in many ways beyond an individual’s control. A student and family can do many things to make themselves a strong, desirable candidate for admission. But they can’t guarantee it. The system can’t really be gamed, and many of the attempts to do so may hurt the student in the long run.  Plus, no matter how well a student may have positioned him- or herself, the school may desire something else in the applicant pool. Not to mention that many wonderful young people compete for each spot.

                I’m not suggesting a student not strive for the best placement possible, whatever that may mean in each individual case. I’m arguing it should not be the ultimate, defining goal and measure. Rather than external affirmation, we need to focus on the formation of a self. Resiliency, gratitude, curiosity, hope—these are some of the qualities that allow a person to thrive in any environment.

                That brings me back to the film and the notion of blame. It’s natural. However, it’s also vital we consider one other player. Ourselves. Watching the film, I wondered how much the filmmaker’s own anxiety contributed to her children’s. I also kept asking, “Okay, so how have you changed things in your own life?” Not until the end did she mention any changes. Now I wonder if they’ve stuck.

                One colleague’s comment truly struck me. She found the film to be as much about parenting as about education. So I’m thrilled we had so many people at the screening, and I am truly heartened by the points made during the discussion—including ones about our one role in creating and ameliorating the situation—and on the cards we collected (more on those and other thoughts  in future posts). People are struggling with this issue, and that’s healthy.  We live in anxious times regarding our children; we crave wonderful opportunities for them. But at what cost? What are we willing to risk? Those should be hard, even scary questions. Each family must answer individually. As a school we have to grapple with them. At the same time, we can give each other courage.

n.b. I want to express our thanks to Munger Place Church for allowing us to use their sanctuary for the screening. It was the perfect location—beautiful, intimate, and inspiring.