This Happened

In an effort to be more cooperative, I agreed to teach a unit so that all three of the sixth grade teachers at my school could check another "common unit" box even though it included prescribed novels, which I am not in favor of. I strongly believe that students should have a lot of choice in reading; in fact I have a sign in my classroom that cites a statistic that 9 out of 10 kids read more when they choose their own books.

Today I did the "book pass" activity where the students take a structured look at their prospective choices and rank them. It did not go well. Although some kids seemed enthusiastic about the novels there were many negative comments, with "boring" and "babyish" topping the list.

In my last class of the day, the opposition was at its most vocal. There seemed to be a note of betrayal in the complaints, as if my students couldn't believe I was forcing them to read books they didn't want to. 

"Look at that sign!" one of them said. "If 9 out of 10 kids read more when they choose their own books, why are you making us do this?"

Why indeed.

Done!

"I like being the star of your blog!" Mary told me this morning.

"I'll have to do that more often," I replied with more than a little irony. 

I know what she means, though. I wrote this almost four years ago:

A friend and fellow-blogger mentioned me in her blog yesterday. It was really just a fleeting reference; I was but a minor character in her daily anecdote, but I admit to a bit of a thrill when I read it. I write about people all the time, but as far as I know, no one writes about me. Pity-- there's a part of me that wants to be a character in someone else's narrative, if only so I can read about it later. Perhaps I should just make an effort to commit more memorable acts when around my writer friends.

To which Mary replied:

You didn't know my whole blog is about you...it's just disguised in layers of symbolism and metaphors and such. (If it's me you're talking about...)

Quandary

I frowned and let out a long sigh.

We were looking at the results of the quarterly standardized predictor tests we are mandated to administer to our students this year. The passing score is 80% or better, and my students had not fared well.

"Are you feeling bad that your students did so badly?" Mary asked.

"No!" I said, considering the flaws in the test, the stupidity of measuring knowledge and ability by 24 multiple-choice questions.

"Well, kind of," I continued, thinking of how this was the standard we would all be judged by, whether I liked it or not. No wonder people teach the test-- actually, it's a miracle that anybody doesn't.

"And now you feel even worse, because you feel bad? Right?" Mary added.

Right.

And the Award Goes to...

Golden Globes, Grammys, Oscars... the award season is here.

I will leave my musings on extrinsic rewards for another day, other than to say that I am obviously conflicted and compromised on the topic. (Bless me, Alfie Kohn, for I have sinned.)

I really would like to shout out (woot! woot!) to today's award winner:

Congratulations to my favorite children's author, Kate DiCamillo, for her second Newbery Medal.

Ambition

Where does ambition come from? Consider the case of Jordan Belfort, the subject of the movie The Wolf of Wall Street, which we saw today. In his early twenties he pursued and achieved what some might say was obscene wealth, at least the way he spent his money. Or rather the money he got mostly from cheating other people.

Did Belfort have more ambition than others? More luck? Fewer scruples? In any case, he knew what he wanted and he got it. In many ways he's the opposite of Woody Grant, the elderly main character in the movie Nebraska who becomes convinced that he has won a million dollars from a magazine peddling company. "I didn't even know he wanted to be a millionaire," Woody's wife says. "He should have thought of that years ago and worked for it."

And then there's Lloyd Dobler, the teenaged hero of the classic movie, Say Anything. When asked at the dinner table about his plans for the future, Lloyd answers like this:

You mean like career? Uh, I don't know. I've, I've thought about this quite a bit sir, and I'd have to say considering what's waiting out there for me, I don't want to sell anything, buy anything, or process anything as a career. I don't want to sell anything bought or processed, or buy anything sold or processed, or process anything sold, bought, or processed, or repair anything sold, bought, or processed. You know, as a career, I don't want to do that.

He is, as he tells his guidance counselor, "looking for a dare to be great situation."

So, where does ambition come from? Maybe a better question is what does ambition look like, or even who gets to say what ambition is?

I ask these questions in consideration of the four boys I know, two of them 18 and two of them 21, who are nearing that threshold of self-direction and independence, and I wonder where their ambitions will take them.

I have my fingers crossed for a few dare to be great situations.

Blindsided

August: Osage County?

Oh my.

Which Way the Wind Blows

It seems that more cold weather is on the way for us. Never mind that we are we living through days of record lows, more such days are forecast for next week. At least that's what the weather reports say.

In places to the north, they are coping with lasting sub-zero temps. Around here, where it's 20 to 30 degrees warmer than that, there are plenty of folks who have neither the clothing nor shelter to safely and comfortably weather this weather, so I know I'm lucky that, for me, this cold snap is nothing more than an interesting change.

It reminds a little bit of when I was in college in upstate New York. We must have had some really cold cold days then. I couldn't say for sure, because I literally never paid any attention to the weather report then. Why would I? There was no internet, no local paper, and I didn't own a TV. Plus I lived on campus, so I just got up, looked out the window, and went with it.

Back then, if it was snowy I wore my Swiss hiking boots, jeans, a long-sleeved shirt, and my blue down jacket, with gloves if I thought about it. It was never too bad. I do remember days so cold, though, that when I stepped out the door I felt the hair in my nose crisp up a little bit, and it was possible to walk across the glaze on top of the snow without ever breaking through to the fifteen inches of powder below.

What did I do? I took a deep breath, turned my face to the blue sky, shoved my hands in my pockets and went to class.