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.)