These Nights

I used to wake up
In the middle of the night
maybe once, to pee.

But now I’m awake
thinking about China and
children and Putin.

From the kitchen a
burglar or a new ice cube
makes a sudden noise.

I roll on my side
and close my eyes, pull covers
up close to my nose

and picture a cube
of new-born ice dropping with
a clunk in the tray.

Because when I wake
these nights, a burglar isn’t
my biggest worry.

Last Leaves

Yellow bellied tree

Holding on to his leaves as

The first snows blow in

Like a stubborn dog

Who won’t drop his bone to
Come in from the rain

Sauna

The bench creaks as I

Lean forward, drips of sweat

Painting the dry boards.

In the round dark spots

A roly-poly puppy

Gazes up at me

swimming in a pool

of soft soothing words and the

smell of fresh laundry.

I say, ‘Hi, pup’, and

We watch each other until
He drowns in my sweat.

Sometimes things click...

Sometimes things click.  Sometimes my class and I are spot on.  Everyone is focused, the message and the meaning are ripe, and the fruit is falling off the tree.  My students are eating it up. 

Funny thing is, these moments don’t usually occur during group work, independent projects, or lessons designed with multiple intelligences in mind.  They usually take place with me up in front of the classroom, and the kids at their desks facing me.  

The bell rings, and my students pick up their bags and head out the door.   I can almost see the thought-bubbles rising up and disintegrating over their heads.   A few kids smile and one or two might tell me how fun class was today.  But still, ‘poof’, ‘poof’, ‘poof’ go the pregnant thoughts in their brains.  They’re on to hallway relationships, unfinished homework, and the next teacher’s attempts to captivate their minds. 

It would have been one of those days in which I wondered about my own effectiveness as a teacher in spite of my passion.  But in my hands are pieces of paper that the students handed me as they left class.  It’s them, writing -   Questions.  Connections.  Ideas.  Thoughts about ways to solve the problems posed in my story.  Sometimes heartfelt responses, some brief, some organized, some with doodles.   These writings are professionally precious to me. With them I can gauge the understanding of my students, and shape the course of future lessons.  I can see who just needs the go-ahead to pursue a fantastic and unique project, who needs some reinforcement in order to grasp the concepts we’re getting at, and who has their own story to tell. 

This is one reason why my students write in class.   I value students writing not for preparation on a standardized test, but as a means of listening to and responding to them.  The conversation continues.  

Weeping Willows

There is a stand of willows on the shore
That have one wish in life and nothing more

For when I stand and watch them bend and sway
Especially upon a windy day

When dappled sea-borne clouds go tumbling by
I see the willows wave and hear them sigh

"Oh, to be a cloud and float so free!"
And then they weep - for it will never be.

And so beneath the willow trees I stand
and hold their teary branches in my hand

And tell the trees "You have no need to cry
For even though it’s true you cannot fly

Those dappled sea-borne clouds will soon be rain
For clouds by nature simply can’t remain

And you, dear trees that billow, bend and sway
Are pretty as the clouds and yet you stay."

And so it is in this world and the rest
We all are who we are, and that is best.

The 'Think-about'

I said, “You know, there are really only about six dates I want you to remember from this year, but I want you to remember them for the rest of your life.” That got them curious, so I wrote them down.

1215 – signing of the Magna Carta
1492 – New World and Old World meet – Columbus
1607 – First successful English colony at Jamestown
1776 – Signing of the Declaration of Independence
1787 – Ratification of Constitution
1861 – Civil War

“That’s it,” I said.

“What about all those other dates in our textbooks?” they asked.

“Even if you learned some of those dates, do you think you’ll remember them for the rest of your life?” I asked.

They said no.

And then I asked, “What about 1820? Do you know anything about 1820?”

They said no.

“What are we going to do? You don’t know anything about 1820! Or, perhaps you do. Look at this timeline. There are six dates and events on it. It looks like nothing was happening in 1820. Do you think that’s true?”

“Of course not,” they said.

“Look at this timeline! What do you know about 1820?”

They looked at the timeline. It took a few moments.

Then someone said, “It was before the Civil War.”

“YES!” I cried. “Yes. It was before the Civil War. You know that, because you know 1861 was the beginning of the Civil War.”

“And if it was before the Civil War, what was going on?”

It took a few moments. Then someone said, “Slavery was going on.”

“YES!” I exclaimed. “Yes, slavery was going on in 1820, and before it, and after it.”

I asked, “What else do you know about 1820?” I was getting excited now.

Someone said, a little quicker, “It was after the signing of the Consitution!”

“YES!” I cried again. “It was after the signing of the Constitution. You knew that. And what does that mean?”

“We were a country.”

“YES! We were a country. And we had been a country for a while, right? About how many years?”

“About 40 years.”

“And what do you think happened in those 40 years? Did the signers of the Constitution live forever?”

“The founders had all died.”

“That’s right. Or almost all of them.”

“And the people who had fought in the Revolutionary War.”

“That’s right. And so, who were these people of 1820? How might they be different from those people of the 1770’s and 1780’s?”

“They didn’t have that war. They didn’t have that revolution. They were born in the U.S.A.”

“Just like Bruce Springsteen, right?”

They didn’t get it. But I went on anyway.

“So, even thought you haven’t memorized ANYTHING about 1820, you KNOW a lot about it, because you know about these six dates. And you can make sense of ANY date. You have these dates and events as benchmarks. You can see what was before, and what was after, and you can figure a lot of things out. We could go on and on about 1820 now, don’t you think?”

They understood.

I’m into what kids KNOW. I think they know a lot. They like that I think that. I like helping them to realize that.

Swimmers in the Gorge

swimmers in the gorge below
nasty backflow there

I’m too far to yell

the falls are too loud

they must be new
or stopping by for graduation



there goes another
sliding down the rocks
vanishing under

Where is she?

Ah, Thank God.
Fucking idiots.

To burst the bubble of a moment in paradise
or just watch and pray?

Ah, they’re leaving now

snapping towels and beating hearts
laughter echos up
with the rising darkness

the dog’s been waiting to finish this walk
and find a squirrel to tree

I blow a few smoke rings off the bridge
and watch them drift over the gorge

In all a good day
with my dog, a nice cigar
and paradise won

Pecker on the Chimney

big man woodpecker
bangin’ on the chimney cap
for all the ladies

Look at him up there
serious hormone issues
Woody’s ragin’, man

see that log right there
he did that, man, he did that
just demolished it

he can bang away
the dude’s got a need but he
best not touch my car

Post-op Doc

he tells my son that
things looked good, he’ll be back in
action in no time

one word from the boy
“Sweet” confers on the doctor
the champion’s medal

he cocks his scrub cap
like a man who’s just stepped up
on the podium

my podium, my son -
I want to clutch the child and
hold him forever

Oh, the world rushes
in to laud new heros and
I strain for a view

thank you, my son, for
the time that I’ve known what it’s
like to be a god

Father-Daughter Dance

my screaming teenage
daughter tests my willingness
to keep on giving

no use telling me
that I should draw the line and
hold my ground with her

I’m no push-over
and still have my dignity
when it comes to that

betrayal and fear
conformity rejection
are her daily bread

I need to show her
how to refuse abuse by
standing up to hers

I need to show her
my unconditional love
so she can find hers

Ode to Sherwin-Williams Paint Logo

Oh, Sherwin-Williams
logo of globe dripping in paint
how I admire you

stalwart icon of
my father’s generation
holding on like him

a symbol of dreams
for an anonymous house
some kids and a car

if only the world
could have kept up with your plans
things would be fine now

to ‘cover the world’
with your great vision of the
American Dream

Oh, Sherwin-Williams
your icon is dripping with
dreams of my father

Inauguration Day on the Potomac

Before dawn

I think I hear someone on the frozen river

and stop to listen

but it’s only the straining ice that’s giving way

and shattering like giant panes of glass

as the river moves it on


so I keep moving,

relieved, as if I might have –

could have – saved some soul

who’d gotten stuck there

without a branch or a hand

or hope to cling to


but that behind me

I’m down the trail again to

Washington, D.C.

on toward Washington

to beat the crowds and witness

the Inauguration


heading south

toward where a glow on the horizon

shows through bare branches

and this time

in the first rays of dawn

I hear a low soulful humming

and sense up ahead

the shadowed forms of people

walking toward the light

And see their breath

Rising up like jeweled veils in the frosty air

walking and humming

with tools on their shoulders

and baskets at their sides

humming the world of their frozen river

strained and shattered

moving on

toward the break of day

toward the sun

toward Washington

and Inauguration

Silent Night

The newspaper shows
A photo of a herdsman
in Afghanistan

I can see his breath
As he crouches by a fire
And warms his fingers

While village elders
And American solders
Meet and talk nearby

I think of the cost
in lives, energy, money
to make this meeting

where global interests
of power, religion, war
and peace intersect

where so much desire
has descended upon one
man warming his hands

This Afghan herdsman
and I aren't so far apart
We want the same thing

The peace that comes with
A warm place by the fire on
A cold winter night

Education Yakuza

I know when I teach
There are things that must be taught
Which the state mandates

As a rule of thumb
About seventy percent
Belongs to the state

And thirty percent
Belongs to me and I don’t
Know who’s thumb it is

Maybe if I don’t
Give the state its percentage
And try to short them

They’ll cut off my thumb
Like Japanese Yakuza
And wrap it up nice

And send it to my
Students - a message not to
Trifle with the state

So if I see some
Wise guys in the school hallways
I’ll just play it cool

and make sure that they
notice a multiple choice
test on my clipboard

and not the writing
my students generated
yesterday about

standardization
as the worst enemy of
creativity

Thinking in the Air

The National Writing Project in Philly was worthwhile, but not for the reasons that I expected. The most valuable part of the gathering was not the workshops or the keynote speaker, but the conversations with people.

After having been caught up on all this generative, ‘writing to think’ stuff, I’ve been dogged by the reality that most of our writing is done for others. It’s a fact. We write to answer the questions of others, to respond to the needs of others, to give and to get information from others. Most of our writing is transactional; an exchange between people prompted by a form, a question, a need.

The conversations I had at the NWP were prompted as well. Someone may have asked, “What did you think of that workshop?”, and I might have answered, “It was OK.” Or I might have gone on and elaborated on the high points and low points. But either way, I was responding to an external prompt, exchanging ideas, and developing a thread of conversation in an exchange with someone else’s ideas.

I can carry on a pretty good conversation. I can take the bait and run with it, stretch it, knead, revise and edit what I’m saying, and what I’m going to say. I suppose it took practice for me to be able to do this. And being among others who model it well. Yet, some people can’t carry on a good conversation. Specifically, I’m thinking about many of my students.

In her book, Writing to the Prompt, Janet Angelillo speaks about the power of structured conversation as a means of thinking and strategizing to prepare for a writing to a prompt.
“During conversations, students hear others’ ideas and work through or try out their ideas. In many ways, talking leads to clarification of thinking and rehearsal for writing.” (Angelillo, 2005)

I bought in to those extended conversations with others in Philly. I want my students to buy-in to the questions and prompts that they inevitably confront in school and in the world. Conversations created with my students, with the intention of examining the structure, course, and evolution of the conversation itself, may help them to ‘think in the air’ before they think with their pens.

Angellillo, Janet. Writing to the Prompt. 2005. Hienemann, Portsmouth, NH.

I highly recommend it.

Mission Intentional (can you hear the theme song?)

So here's the thing. I figure that if I want to be 'intentional' about what I'm doing in my classroom, and how I'm doing it, I ought at least to start with whatever it is I am intending toward. You know what I mean?

Looking way way off into the distance, about the farthest thing I can aim at with any intention is my beliefs and values as a teacher. Hence, I wrote a mission statement. This is my mission - the loftiest target I can possibly aim for with my students.

Here goes...



"I intend to guide my students' to explore their world in an atmosphere of safety and trust; to build skills that allow them to share, appreciate, and learn from each other; and to apply knowledge of the diverse heritage of the United States of America and of the U.S. Constitution toward a greater understanding of themselves and their world."

Hoo-Whee! Yeah, I told you it was lofty. But I really hammered over - and can provide my own justification - for every word in there. Let's just move on. This is my own version of designing backward, and you don't get to argue (unless, of course, you comment!)

But here's the thing. Have I just set myself up for a crash? I mean, what is a mission, or a belief statement, but a border to my own thinking? In a sense, by defining my professional mission, I've basically marked my territory. Sure, it's a pretty big chunk of territory, and I really shouldn't have any problem working sustainably off of it, but still, in effect I'm saying that if you don't like the smell of it, stay away.

For now, that's the way it is, and I can defend it. So if you don't like it, you know what you can do.

But come back later, I may be in a better mood.

So, I got a mission goin' for me. That's cool. What else?

My mission is based on some pretty basic beliefs. Let's open the drawer and see what they are:

I believe that:

* Students should think
* Students should have choices
* Students should know what is expected of them and why
* Students should experience a safe and trusting classroom
* Students should do most of the work
* The teacher should model every aspect of these beliefs daily


Mission - check. Beliefs upon which mission is based - check. Let's keep going backward, from the lofty and broad toward the more immediate and focused.

Goals. What tangible goals do I have to achieve, using these basic beliefs, to accomplish my mission?

I can tell you they have to do with the daily practice of writing, speaking, reading, and listening in the classroom, always based on these beliefs, and moving toward accomplishing my mission.

More later.

Intentionality - Part I

Once, long ago, in a far-away school, I had a student that drove me nuts. As I griped at the copy machine, a fellow teacher leaned in and said with all seriousness, “You know, Eric, whatever happens in your classroom is completely up to you.”

Right…

I could think of a hundred scenarios in which that was clearly not the case. I didn’t pull the strings that made the mouths open that let the bad words fly. I didn’t push the lethargic heads down on the desks when there was work to be done. I didn’t create the poorly completed assignments, and neglect the homework from the night before.

But it stuck, what he said. I knew, in some fundamental way, that the pompous jerk was right.

I accept that my presence, attitude, and actions in the classroom have a profound impact on my students. I don’t always acknowledge or handle this awesome power too well, but I recognize it. I’ve started to watch for it, and have begun seeing it at work in my classroom.

I’ve been thinking a lot about ‘intentionality’. It was a big mistake to look it up. Seems that a lot of other people have been thinking about intentionality, too – thinking very hard about it, and making it way too complicated for the likes of me. So as far as 'intentionality' goes, I just want to dwell for a while on my own little realization that every word I say, every gesture I make, every action, response and oversight in my classroom sends a message to each of my students - one that may be interpreted in many ways, but is received and processed by them, however subliminally. As such, I need to look and listen carefully.

My first and most disappointing realization after reflecting on this was that I am not Superman. I am not Super-Teacher. I am flawed; prejudiced, opinionated, and weak. It took awhile, about ten years of teaching, but I’ve accepted that. Really, I’m OK.

The second thing that occurred was to become a little more attuned to, and forgiving of, my students' imperfections. They noticed, too. I mean, I didn't become a pushover, but I started to listen to the complaints about soccer games, play rehearsals, and not enough time. I started to notice that my students read more, and wrote better, when they did it in class.

The last thing I discovered was that as a flawed, prejudiced, and opinionated person, I - the teacher - became a little more interesting. I found that when I shared a bit of myself, admitted a shortcoming or two, revealed an opinion in an open and fair exchange of ideas, my students perked up a bit.

Part II on Thursday (good to set deadlines, even if I break them.)

NaNoWriMo

NaNoWriMo

My English team-teacher got me on to NaNoWriMo. That’s “Na”tional “No”vel “Wri”ting “Mo”nth. Thirty days of writing to crank out 50,000 words by November 30th. No edits, no revisions, just crank out the crap and see at the end of November what kind of pile you have. It’s possible, if you average a mere 1660 words per day.

I signed on. It’s November 3. I’m at 800 words. But I’m learning. So far I’ve learned that writing a novel-length story is not as easy as writing a drunken manifesto. You have to think. That’s not fair.

So I walked to school today. It took me an hour, and that gave me time to I solve a few problems with my story. Which, in turn, created problems. But at least I could keep writing.

My English team-teacher opened up the challenge to her students. Kids are encouraged to go for 7 to 15,000 words by the end of the month. She’s tracking each participants progress, including mine.

So what? I don’t have time for this. I won’t possibly reach 50,000 words by the end of the month.

A couple things. The challenge and the freedom to just write without editing, writing for quantity over quality, frees things up. The time frame is doable, with some commitment, of which this rates as pretty low on the priority list. But at least it’s on the list! Getting the kids involved was a great idea, and having me and other adults in the school involved gives the act of writing just a little more cred. Not that I’m oozing with ‘cool’ or anything, but the kids see adults involved, and they think, well, writing for fun and the challenge like this is something that even some adults do. Writing isn’t so weird.

That’s all for now. Back to the story. I need help though. What would a Tibetan monk be doing with a satchel full of cash? Stay tuned, or, just put in an order for my NaNoWriMo book!

New Student

Every parent would like to know that their child, as a new student in a school, will be greeted enthusiastically by teachers and warmly by students. The hidden reality is that a new student comes with a trace of anxiety. One more student in an already large class can be perceived by a teacher as the tipping point between control and chaos - the difference between effective teaching or what amounts to mere seat work for students. The thought of additional reporting, and even the apparently simple yet important consideration of where to seat a new child, can tinge that hoped-for welcome a new student so critically needs. After several weeks of hard work together, a class and a teacher create a working relationship that can be quickly altered by the emotional, academic, and social needs of an incoming student.

At a recent intake meeting, I learned of a prospective new student with significant challenges. I thought about how another teacher, perhaps even me a few years ago, might have smiled outwardly yet quietly internalized this information. How am I going to do this? Is this fair to my class? Is this really the right placement for the child, considering all the accommodations required?

I felt none of that. I thought about how fortunate this incoming child was to have a parent advocating for him. I thought about what a great experience this child’s presence would be for my students. Finally, I thought that I really don’t need to change a thing in terms of my instructional approach.

I wonder how it came to this. I can say now that writing with my students in my classroom has made that much difference in my approach to teaching. With that, we may not have precisely or entirely covered the curriculum prescribed, but we have learned and I have taught all that needs to be in order to accommodate this particular student, or any student. Together, we’ve learned to flex, to allow ourselves to be shaped and to embrace whatever person or idea comes through the classroom door. We've practiced patience with the process of writing; with the process of finding our thoughts and clarifying them with written words. We’ve established trust; that from wherever one approaches their writing is legitimate, fragile, and needs to be made to feel safe in order to share with others freely.

Where else will a new student like this be more suitably placed, but in a writing classroom?

An Almost Perfect Day

I had the most incredible day today. One student stopped me in the middle of the class and said, "What I like about this class is that everything is so hands-on." I was shocked. I had to tell him, "You know, the only thing you've had your hands on in this class is a pen and a piece of paper." Then it was his turn to be shocked. It was true.

We're working on getting our heads around creation stories, specifically, comparing the Iroquois Creation Narrative with the Judeo/Christian story of Genesis 2 in the New International Version (NIV) Bible. They've heard both stories, once just a listen, and the second time to pull out and write down objects/events and any symbolism they may percieve in them. We'll be looking for similarities and differences. But, there's so much more, and these seventh graders are so ready for big questions.

I put this writing prompt on the board. "Perfection is the enemy of creativity." - Edward Koch. Then asked them to write what they thought this might mean.

Unbelieveable. The level and intensity of conversation blew me away. I copied statements on the board, and prefaced our conversation by telling students that as we talk, see if you can place some of the things we mention into the meanings of the creations stories we've read. and took suggestions for a diagram that started to develop alongside the statements.
"If something is perfect, it doesn't need anything added to it, so there's no need to create anything for it."
"Perfection is impossible."
"If perfection is impossible, why try?"
"We can't be perfect, but we can try. We should. We struggle."
What about a perfect bowling game?"
"That's just a maximum, not perfection."
"Technology and knowledge cancel out religion. We get so full of knowledge, we think we don't need it."
"People make mistakes, so how can we be perfect?"
"Who defines mistakes?"
"What if we're still perfect, even with mistakes. Who are we to say?"
"There's good and bad. Everyone knows this. It just is."
"If perfection is the enemy of creativity, then imperfection is the ally of creativity."
"Well, we got that going for us."
Beauty, Plato, imperfection, the perfect ideal of something. It was really a thrill to have such a level of participation in class.

From there, we tied it into the creation stories. It seems that both of them begin with a perfect world. Then humans make a bad decision and end up in an imperfect world - this world we live in. They struggle between good and evil.

All of this emerged out of four minutes of writing and thinking.
Then we wrote again.

I'm looking forward to tomorrow.