Leadership

I'm thinking about collaborative learning, and, because of an odd point of synchronicity--leadership. First of all, there's a video on YouTube that is a focal point of my musing. Alex Hughes, an 11th grader from Greensboro, North Carolina, made it for a Dept of Education contest. He is obviously a student with drive, talent, and resources--all important ingredients for success. Maybe those are not the only ingredients needed for success, but kids who have those can accomplish amazing things. Add some friends to support the effort, and--violá! An award-winning video.

It's clear that Alex Hughes understands 21st century skills. He's used technology to engage an audience for a specific purpose in an authentic situation. He's worked collaboratively with his peers, judging by the list of friends who helped him and who appear in the video. He apparently takes ownership of his learning and shown leadership.

A couple days after I watched this video, I attended the University of Toledo's graduation. It was an impressive scene, with over 1000 graduates. The usual graduation hyperbole was flying with lightning speed, as was appropriate for the occassion. The keynote speaker was Dr. David Eaglesham, a vice president of First Solar, an international company on the cutting edge of green technologies. As he was exhorting the grads to go out in the world and do great things, he said something along the lines of "In the coming years, you need to all be leaders." My ears perked up and the wheels started whirring. All 1000 plus grads needed to be leaders? Really? So....who's going to follow? Doesn't being a leader imply that someone is there, shoring up the rear?

Which lead me back to Alex Hughes, the embryonic Spielberg. As I consider all the various techniques for using collboration in the classroom, there's one element that can't be turned into a nifty protocol or check off box on a rubric: for a group to function well, it needs a leader. That doesn't imply that we need mini-Mussilinis making all the railroads run on time, either. Alex Hughes evidently is a leader. He knows how to organize, he knows how to get people to buy-in and be productive. While leaders obviously can refine their skills, and people can learn skills to lead, many people are not suited to be leaders.

And that's okay. Really. For a leader to be effective, people who believe in the vision and will take responsibility for helping make it come true are crucial. Ask Alex Hughes--or President Obama, whose friend Rahm Emanuel is working as Chief of Staff to make Obama's White House effective. Or any Academy Award-winning actor, who was making the writer's and director's and producer's visions come to life, following someone else's vision to produce a film.

We need to teach students to be responsible, to be curious, to solve problems, and all those other 21st century skills that are becoming ubiquitous buzzwords--but maybe instead of pretending we can teach them to all be leaders, we need to help them learn how to carefully choose who they follow and which visions they should support. I'm still thinking this through, but I'm considering how to use collaboration in the classroom to develop not just leaders, but examplary, creative, effective followers who can challenge their teams and their leaders to achieve more than they imagined possible. That doesn't sound as....deingrating, I guess...as it did before I thought about Alex Hughes

Thom's blog

Movie List, Continued

My summer watching list is growing. As it currently stands, it's full of interesting stuff I haven't seen:

Fellini's 8 1/2 (Ian)
Kubrick's Paths to Glory (David)
Nichol's Who's Afraid of Virginia Wollf (Devin)
Bogdanovich's What's Up, Doc? (Jack--and bless you for letting me watch something fun!)
Smith's Dogma (Leslie--I've seen most of it, but fell asleep)
The Student Prince (Dad)
The Maltese Falcon (Dad)
From Here to Eternity (Mom)
Casablanca (Dad)

Still have at least two openings, still have at least two people who haven't answered--ironically, because I've talked about it with them! Slackers--command me :) I'm going to start ordering them on Netflix today. Will set up my movie blog this weekend. The blog can have multiple authors--anyone want to blog along, or are you just going to make snarky comments about my writings?

Summer Viewing and Reading

I've asked a few people to suggest movies that I should watch this summer, with the goal being to blog about each one and enlarge my cultural horizons (which means the same thing as get out my my video rut--that's not counting Buffy, of course; Buffy isn't a rut!)

I've got part of the viewing schedule lined up, in the order people told me. So far, here's the list
Fellini's 8 1/2 (Ian)
Kubrick's Paths to Glory (David)
Nichol's Who's Afraid of Virginia Wollf (Devin)
Bogdanovich's What's Up, Doc? (Jack--and bless you for letting me watch something fun!)
Smith's Dogma (Leslie)

I've still got a few people who haven't responded, and the people who have responded all offered to give me more recommendations too--but I've limited them to one each so far.

More recommendations are welcome, but I'm pacing myself--and planning on continuing my Buffy blog this summer too! I'm not starting to watch til school's out, so I've got some time to finalize my list.

AND--I'm reading Bleak House by Charles Dickens this summer. Anyone want to join me?

Everyday Rites

When I was young--even through college, but starting from late elementary--the rhythm of my life was set in large part by the ritual of concert and performance schedules. I miss that, the daily practice and rehearse, the pressure as the deadline loomed, the night of the concert--supper on the go, dressing up (argghgh--the white flowing dresses the orchestra girls wore my jr and sr year! I just remembered! Arghghgh.). Milling around backstage, tuning--then performing. If everything went right, the band, orchestra or choir was at their peak that night.

Being in plays is a similar dynamic, but not quite the same. And I miss that, too--but as I sat at Beth's concert tonight I realized that performances shaped the ebb and flow of my life far more than quarters or semesters or any other kind of season.

And I will happily argue that in concret, real terms, committing to excel in a musical group is akin to joining a highly disciplined, competitive sports team--and possibly with longer lasting effects. But I'm tired and need to chase Beth to bed, so that will wait for another night. Tootles!

Letter I just sent to the Powers That Be

I know how deeply you care about our kids’ education, and that when you are making decisions and considering hard issues, the impact on the students is in the forefront of your mind. I don’t question that in the least, so I’ve been biting my tongue and silencing my email for a of couple years now, trusting that my personal reservations about campus wear were based on my inability to see the big picture. After two years of campus wear at the high school, I am concerned that we may have all lost sight of the cosmic picture frame.

Here’s what has prompted my finally writing to you: I have heard from several teachers—including people not in my school—as well as two students about your reaction when you walked into the music room during a senior project presentation. Exactly what the student was doing as the project is not part of the grapevine retelling, nor is how well the task was accomplished. Instead of the focus being on the student’s project, the story flying around recounts how appalled you were by the dress code violations.

Although I’m not working on senior projects this year, I am a firm supporter of them, and want the MI students to value them, be invested in them, and yes, even be nervous and concerned about how well they are completing them. We make the task demanding for a reason: so the students have truly accomplished something noteworthy if and when they pass. I’m troubled that the topic of discussion at lunch tables and hallways is not the senior project, but how people in an ancillary position relating to the project were dressed.

This incident crystallizes one of the key issues relating to the campus wear policy: the balance between focusing on “rigor, relevance and relationships,” the three R’s we have been told would revolutionize our school, and focusing on compliance. As you just demonstrated, I’m sure with the best intentions, that balance is difficult. If we as teachers are to seek rigor and relationship, to get the student’s trust as their advocate, we undercut it in many students’ minds if the first words they hear in class relate to their clothing. Regardless how gently we phrase it, in many students’ worldview that makes us enforcers first. That is not indicative of the educational atmosphere I loved teaching in when we went to the small school concept, and it’s at least one component changing the climate in our school for the worse.

There is an issue tying in with that I think underlies many of the problems with enforcing the dress code: the students have not bought in. They do not really understand why it exists, or believe that campus wear will improve anything. As Chasity Boedicker said in her speech last year when she spoke to the dress code committee, the dress code feels like punishment for low test scores and being from a poor school. “How high do our grades have to be to make this go away,” I’ve been asked. We can explain and justify all we want, but high school students aren’t stupid; they know that Shawnee, Bath, and Elida don’t have campus wear and do better on the tests—as well as having parents who will get involved if they question a policy. When I go to church, or the store, or even to family events, I hear griping not about enforcement of the policy, but the policy itself. And believe me, I’m not the one raising the topic. I’m incredibly tired of thinking about it!

The campus wear policy has done one thing well: it has polarized the adults involved in enforcing it. Some people notice clothing quickly; some people couldn’t tell you what their spouse wore at their wedding! Some are very color sensitive; some didn’t know that baby blue, sky blue and light turquoise were different colors. Some people do not mind beginning class by calling out students for untucked shirts; other people are have multiple papers, late work, make up assignments and other tasks occupying their thoughts. Until campus wear, we could embrace and applaud our quirks and differences, knowing that we are all committed to helping our students perform at the highest level possible. Now, the differences too often divide us into the people who are following the rules to the letter and the people who aren’t—all still with the best of intentions, but the difference still exists.

Out of respect for Jeff last year, and for Sue this year, I’ve kept my concerns quiet. But as I sat in a sermon during Holy Week, I felt indicted by the story of Jesus overturning the tables at the temple. If I don’t tell you what I am concerned about, I am giving you and my students less than my best effort. Our students’ needs are so overwhelming in so many ways. I have to keep asking myself if the time we spend on this issue is key to helping our students learn to navigate the 21^st century, or if we are working hard to win a battle, regardless of the effect on the war? The more I think about that, the less I like my answer. Since you were in the music room, maybe you have some frame of reference for understanding how easily we can lose sight of the mission at hand as we deal with the students on an hour by hour, day by day basis.

I didn't mean to write so much, but there are even more points I could make. However, thank you for your time and consideration--and I do hope you have a good rest of the day!

New Rule

If you feel the urge to write a drama about the Last Supper, and if you believe that it makes any sense for Jesus' mother and Judas' mother to be best friends, and if you then add quotes from a random disciple to to prove that no one, including Judas' mother, trusted Judas, DO NOT also have Judas' mother quote John 3:16 (King James Edition) and cite it as from the scriptures.

I can only suspend disbelief so far.

(In case you didn't know: John was written long, long after most of the rest of the New Testement, long after Judas' mother had left the Home for Heretic's mothers to go to a more celestial homestead.)

My Patron Saint

Ok, so a Methodist who wants to turn Quaker probably shouldn't have a patron saint. I understand that. But when I discovered St Clare, there was no choice. As a saint, she's got impeccable creditials. She was one of St Francis of Assisi's first followers, and was noted for her disdain and disinterest in worldly possessions and events. She is described as having a "radical commitment to poverty," (wikipedia) meaning she did not believe in personal or even communal ownership of anything. She is the founder of the order of nuns nicknamed the Poor Clares, who are among the strictest about not having personal property. She lived from 1194-1253.

So far, typical nun. No doubt holy and awesome, but...ho hum. BUT, in 1958, Pope Pius XII surrendered to a massive fit of irony and named Clare the Patron Saint of Television. Pius was obviously an insightful man, to realize as early as 1958 that television would need a patron saint, so I applaud his choice. St. Clare, the saint of poverty, also the saint of conspicuous consumption, culture-altering advertising, and total shifting of the societal zeitgeist? I need a T shirt for her. Or him. Using irony to make the point about how television would impact post-modern sensibilities, as a statement about the commodity-driven paradigm shifts that would occur because of the flickering influence of Lucy, Mike Wallace, AlkaSelser ads, Disney channel, and Saturday Night Live--the pope was a prescient genius.

I know that the cynical amoung you will suggest that the pope didn't anticipate all that, couldn't have guessed that TV would turn our population cynical, selfish, and sedentary--that's the impact of television you're feeling, you know! Yippee for St Clare! August 12th is my new Feast Day. I'm writing the ceremony now!

Hop in the DeLorean

Years ago, in a galaxy far, far away, an innocent, enthusiastic girl was offered the choice of 3 different futures. One, at Grosse Pointe, teaching bored young rich kids--a John Hughes-vision of "real life." Two, at Shawnee, teaching faux-rich kids; Third, reincarnating Dorothy Day and bringing culture home to her alma mater.

If Doc Brown dangled the keys of the DeLorean and whispered, "floor it to 88 mph," I think I'd rev the engine. I KNOW that's what I should tell my younger colleagues.

I've sat in too many buzz-word laden meetings, listened to too many sincere people look at data for subgroups and discuss how we could support disabled students to raise test scores, or reconfigure middle schools to increase delivery and retention of information. I've had too many discussions about what it would take to motivate students who don't care. And I'm very sure that at Shawnee and Grosse Point, I wouldn't overhear discussions about whether someone's socks or belt violate dress code.

And, when the president starts planning merit pay for successful teachers, I bet I'd have more confidence that my colleagues and I wouldn't get financially screwed--again--just because we were willing enough, or shortsighted enough, or desperate enough, to take a job with in a school system that's a petrie dish for just about every social ill the Great Society was supposed to cure.

My New Campaign

The negativity of the English language is upsetting. Consider the following:

• you can be disgruntled, but how many gruntled people have you ever seen?
• you can be disingenuous, but there are apparently no genuous people among us!
• you can inadvertently do something, but who admits to doing things advertently?
• superheros get to be impervious, but never pervious.

See the problem? My mission is to bring back those words (yes, I'm assuming that for the negative form to exist, the positive did at some point. My Oxford English dictionary was left at Swarthmore, so I can't check that easily--and in fairness, it's the first time in years I've needed it)

I may start with T-shirts. I'm working on the visual today while I marinate in Vicks Vaporub. And thinking that if Springsteen would use the words in lyrics, usage would skyrocket. Gotta work on that, too.

Don't Tune the Steel Guitars Yet

I don't like country music. I've said that till it sounds like the refrain of a classic. There's something about it that just......I cringe.

However, I looked at my iTunes downloads today and realized that my last 10 purchases have been country: LeeAnn Womack's "Last Call," Trace Adkins' something about memory, three John Corbett songs, a Kenny Chesney--I don't even know who these people are (except Corbett--Chris on "Northern Exposure" and one of my most favorite characters in TVland.) The songs are ones I ran into randomly and related to in some way. And I just got the new Alison Krauss/Robert Plant cd. Country? Not sure, but sorta.

Furthermore, one of my guilty pleasures right now is the CMT show "Gone Country," where celebs are competing for a chance to record for some guy I've never heard of named Rich something or something Rich--they think it's worth competing for, at any rate. The attraction? George Clinton trying to sing country, and Mickey Dolenz doing a kick-ass job of singing country. Yea, Mickey of the Monkees--see why I'm watching? Shelia E is on and doing an impressive job, too. But Mickey's gonna win!

So why do I think I don't like country? As a guitar player and storyteller, I should like it. That's what it is, really. And I like pop/folk, and heard a lot of roots country when I took my country music class in grad school--which required a night at a Honky-Tonk and learning the Texas Two-Step. Lots of fun.

So again, why...redux. I think I've figured it out: uber-emotionalism, which I'm not comfortable with, and traditional values, meaning theology that I find unsound, unthinking patriotism, and frequent gender stereotyping and objectification.

I think too much. I think I'm proving that again. (Hence, discomfort with uber-emotionalism). Maybe I need to weed through the annoying country and just enjoy some of the Honky-Tonk, life story type songs. Pop music isn't really catching my interest now; it might be time to find some cowboy boots and change the station on my radio!

And I Don't Even Believe in IQ

I want to say something profound and insightful to prove that I'm still smart--I really haven't seemed smart lately. But I have a cold and am coughing up what looks like brains, so there could be a reason I'm de-evolving. I concede. I'm going to the doctor as soon as I finish this and tie my shoes.

But for the record, my IQ seems to be dropping faster than....I couldn't even think of a good simile. Several embryonic ideas, but... those of us with IQ's below room temperature can't use figurative language eloquently, I'm discovering.

Before long, I'll be mesmerized by "The Price is Right." It's bleak.

Battery Operated Toys

I was going to be profound tonight--or rant more about uniforms, or about Bob Dylan pimping Pepsi--but I'm growling at technology. First off, I was going to set up some potentially cool stuff with my email, but for some reason that I can't imagine, I don't have Outlook. Apparently the version of Vista on this computer is using something called Windows Mail. Well, it looks great, but I can't get Airset to sync with it, and in the process, I messed up something in my configuration (which I did have right).

AND the medical insurance company has been going around and around with Chris about his ACL surgery--throwing up more roadblocks and generating more paperwork than you'd think possible. I'm supposed to be able to set up an online account to track the paperwork chase, but they say I don't exist. In fact, we've had five rounds of emails, with the company saying yes, they know I exist, and telling me how they've put my name in the system. Five times, mind you. My name has been blatantly misspelled three of those times--wonder why I couldn't hit on the right misspelling to enter? Now, it just says I don't exist. I've tried every permutation of my name I can think of...no luck. So another email...

I like technology. I want a smartphone, and I like playing with new toys. I'm good with software, and not intimidated by hardware. BUT I've thought this week that being a Luddite might be a good calling. As I'm deluged with data--much of it meaningless, numbers just to feed the virtual monster--I'm wondering if we'd be a lot better off if technology stopped with indoor plumbing and central heat.

And I could twitter a poll which I would then paste on facebook to share my results with my 106 bestest friends,....but....yeah.....

Uniform Update

Tuesday, the entire campus will begin following a zero tolerance policy regarding dress code. Anyone not in total compliance gets sent home for the rest of the day. That means sagging pants, wrong color t-shirt underneath, untucked shirt--that's what I was told Friday. They called all the kids into the auditorium by grade level, and read a statement telling them that beginning Tuesday, strict compliance was being enforced.

I'm debating between spending the day hiding in my office, or standing in the hall as a citizen journalist. I spent Friday--when they told the teachers and kids the plan--alternately mad, disgusted, or on the verge of tears.

We used to believe in relationships. We used to try to work with the kids to overcome all the obstacles that keep them in failing neighborhoods, menial and service sector jobs--I spent 17 years of my career being the representative of the system that was holding the students down, mired in the teachers vs. students mentality. A few years of Camelot, then....I see where this heads.

So far this year, we've been forced to watch video of Columbine, including the suicides, and been indoctrinated into fearing the kids, now we get to be the Maxwell's Silver Hammer of Fashion. The concept that relationships matter is gone, despite all the happy talk. Actions speak louder--and the kids believe actions a whole lot faster than they believe words.

And words--yea, like the teachers are using as they "discuss" the new policy in the workroom. My new diet plan is to sit in the workroom and try to eat as teachers talk about the "campus wear" policy.

The only real question is this: do I send the protest email to the superintendent before seeing how things go Tuesday, or do I wait until the debacle unfolds? The clock is ticking, and I'm not staying silent this time.

Vision Revisited

Here's the update on my new year's plan, redefining myself with "I am a writer" and "I am an athlete."

How's "I am a sloth" and "I am an owl." Both of those would be far more accurate. I've been getting up at about 5 a.m. for almost 2 weeks now, figuring I'd get used to the early hour and cherish the time for write a work out.

I also believe that there are elves at the North Pole named Sparkle and Twinkle. At this point, the elves are more likely than that I'll ever be functional at 5 a.m.

I have been up, in a state that most zombies would recognize. I'm beat and barely cogent by 9 pm, and heading to bed when Beth does, at least many nights. But I'm still zombie-fied the next morning.

The basic idea is good, I think--changing how I define myself. But I suspect that the modus operandi needs tweaked. I'm too brain dead all day long to even consider Plan B.

Sleep might help--and not setting the damn alarm to play the Star Wars theme in my ear at 5 a.m. Maybe tomorrow I can explain Plan B...

Set the phasers to stun

Topic du jour: Playing. I don't remember which conversations triggered this, but I realized a couple days ago that I don't play well. Not that I don't play well with others, although that could be a totally different topic worth considering. Just that I'm not good at playing in the "being playful" sense of the word.

I haven't researched this or read anything about it, but I suspect that there are different types of playing:

• mental, like playing with ideas;
  
• spiritual, like having a playful spirit, being lighthearted;
  
• social, for instance, being a fun person to interact with; and
  
• physical, which would not imply being athletic or playing serious, necessarily. This is hard to explain, but people who get amused and have fun doing physical things....and yeah, I know you're giggling.

What I realized is that I'm strong at playing with ideas, not just thinking, but having fun putting together unexpected ideas, looking for interesting and amusing kernals of info to process and putt around. To be honest, I know that's why almost all of you keep me around: to see what I'm likely to be thinking about. I give good conversation. (or so I think. maybe I'm kept around because if I'm around, you know a pop machine won't be far behind. I'm like an early warning system for soda)

Spiritual playfulness--probably not. I think too much. If you want theological play, like arguing over which disciple could have been replaced by a female or whether Job was real, I'm in. But lightness of soul...not me. I like my soul heavy, Marvin Gaye style.

I'm socially adept enough, no worries--but I'm not the socially playful one, either. People don't throw sheep at me and giggle very often, and the basic miliue of female interaction--flirting--is... I don't need to go on, I'm sure. I give good conversation. That's almost antithetical to being socially playful, I suspect.

And then....physically playful. If you hop in the Way Back Machine, I was perfectly finely coordinated, could do all the usual physical tasks, even wanted to be in Little League, but girls weren't allowed (I could be a catcher. Really) But just playing,...enjoying moving around, goofing off, physical humor--I'm baffled and self-conscious and...just amused by others, but I like to watch. I say I want to learn to dance, I'd seriously like to (note that I instinctively used the word "serious" while discussing play....that's not a good sign...), but I feel way too stupid dancing to do it anymore. (Of course, trying to follow a dance/ exercise dvd in my bedroom alone may not be optimal dance situation, I know.)

If there were a rubric for assessing the abillity to play, I think I'd score pretty high on 1 out of 4 categories, but tank on the other 3. I'm still thinking about this...not sure that's awful, but it is interesting. I think I'll play with this idea a bit more...

Happy New Year

I got up at 5 am, did some stretches, answered some texts (when do some of you sleep?) and sat down to write. That's my new plan...

I didn't make new years resolutions; however, I did decide that I am redefining myself, beginning with the end of Christmas break. It sums up in two simple sentences:

I am a writer.
I am an athlete.

If you're paying attention, you're laughing. First, I've said I was a writer for years...decades. Writing to do lists is my major achievement, though. It your litmus test for being a writer is fairly low, you may agree that I am a writer. Hogwash! If you define writer a bit more stringently, you should scoff at me calling myself that--based on output, or discipline, or probably even talent, I don't qualify yet. I haven't proven it.

The second sentence is more amusing. I believe that jumping to conclusions is an aerobic exercise. I have a long history of being allergic to jocks. Hives, sneezing, snarky comments--it's not pretty when I'm confronted with dealing with athletes. So the idea that I'm even pretending to want to think about possibly calling myself one...Robin Williams should have such good material.

However--here's my theory: if I define myself as being a writer and an athlete, then commit to proving in my decisions and actions that I am in fact a writer and an athlete, maybe I'll make some changes that will add up over time. For instance, I'm back off pop. If I want to be an athlete, pop is counterproductive.

To that end, I'm getting up early each morning to do things that athletes and writers would do. I'm still figuring out details, of course, and I'm amazingly foggy since I didn't get to sleep till after one, but I'm easing into it. Just the fact that I'm typing when my cozy flannel sheets are whispering my name is noteworthy, so I'm counting today as a success.