Voices

In their own words, here is what StoryCorps is:

StoryCorps is an independent nonprofit whose mission is to provide people of all backgrounds and beliefs with the opportunity to record, share, and preserve the stories of our lives.

Since 2003, StoryCorps has collected and archived more than 45,000 interviews with nearly 90,000 participants. Each conversation is recorded on a free CD to share, and is preserved at the American Folklife Center at the Library of Congress. StoryCorps is one of the largest oral history projects of its kind, and millions listen to our weekly broadcasts on NPR’s Morning Edition and on our Listen pages.

Regular readers might recall that I'm a big fan of StoryCorps, (in fact, I have even used some of the recordings in my classroom as part of the memoir unit) and every week I look forward to sharing a couple minutes of someone else's life. When they gave the teaser at the top of the hour this morning I sat bolt upright in bed. This morning on StoryCorps we"ll hear the story of triplets, blind from birth...

Wow! There can't be too many of them! I thought, and indeed I was correct. It was a recording of some of our former students. Nick, Leo, and Esteban are in ninth grade now, but working to meet their needs when they were in middle school, especially sixth grade, turned our worlds upside down. Those guys left a huge mark on our school.

Listening to the two minute edit of their interview, I was struck mostly by how much was left out of the story. What they said was true, but I knew personally it was incomplete, so much so that it almost seemed inaccurate to me.

To be honest? I was a little annoyed, and for a moment, I even questioned the entire premise of StoryCorps. But then I realized that such inconsistencies actually embody the spirit of the project. Every voice matters, because we all hold a piece of the truth.

It Was Early, OK?

As expected, because of the snow last week, our teacher planning day next month has been canceled. The other morning, when one of my colleagues broke the news to her homeroom students that they would have to come to school on the teacher work day, there were a few sighs and a little grumbling, but one student raised his hand, confused.

"Wait. What are we going to do all day if the teachers are working?"

Carpe Diem

Have I written before about those halcyon days that come in the middle of each school year? If so, please indulge me.

There comes a time in every school year where the horizons become invisible. The beginning of the year was soooo long ago, and the end of the year is too far ahead to even imagine. That's when everyone in the class is working in the present, because there's nowhere else to be. The routine is familiar, the expectations are clear, and the level of trust is high-- everything works and anything is possible.

Teachers! Embrace these weeks! Though they are fleeting, their promise is true, and they are the gift of your commitment to the future.

Birds Flyin' High

You know what I mean.

After five days off, there was a lovely dusting of snow overnight that gave us a delayed opening this morning. At 9 AM, well-rested and well-fed, with the sun shining down on me from impossibly blue skies, as I brushed the light, fluffy snow from our cars, even I was ready to go back to work.

Did shortened classes with a quiz scheduled ease my transition? You bet. And when I left at 6 PM this evening after grading and entering all the assignments of the day, as well as pulling together, analyzing, and reflecting a load of data for a mid-year meeting with my administrator, I was still feeling good.

The Wisdom to Know the Difference

Usually I don't mind living such a densely populated neighborhood. I like to think that we're keeping our carbon footprint small by living in a small, economical place. Our complex is well-designed, too, so there is often the illusion of not only privacy, but also autonomy. And although I know that it is really just an illusion, it still upsets me when the curtain is pulled back and I am forced to confront how powerless I sometimes am.

Last night was one of those occasions. At 1 AM a car alarm went off in the parking lot directly beneath our bedroom window, and it continued honking for over three hours. There was literally nothing practical we could do to make it stop.

Really.

Think about that.

We certainly did.

And then we thanked our lucky stars that it wasn't a school night, buried our heads beneath the pillows, and tried to sleep.

The Documentary Zone

The theater is warm and the lights are dim when you walk in. The chairs are really no more than glorified folding chairs with a little extra padding and a single arm rest. The screen? By multiplex standards, it is quite small, but it is big enough. Even so, you choose seats in the first row so that nothing will obstruct your view, lean back, and relax. You are about to enter another dimension.

For the next three hours, you will be immersed in the lives of other people. There is a 69-year-old man who carves huge, wondrous caves from sandstone, an 82-year-old WWII vet who is serving life in prison for murder-- you will see him die, an impossibly optimistic 109-year-old survivor of the Holocaust, unarmed Yemeni protestors in Change Square who are gunned down by snipers, and an ex-Neo-Nazi and his friend, the gay former street hustler who he almost kicked to death 25 years ago.

These are this year's Oscar-nominated documentary shorts, a collection of movies both so personal and humanizing, that you will leave the theater a slightly different, maybe even better, person than you were before. That's the sign post up ahead.

There Is That

"We should have three days of school a week and four days off!" one of my students suggested the other day, at least 24 hours before a snow storm came along and granted his wish.

Many of the kids in the class nodded in agreement. I didn't blame them; who wouldn't want more time off?

"You mean have three longer days in school?" I asked.

"No!" he shrugged. "Just three regular days."

There were more nods, but at least one of his classmates was not convinced. Frowning, he raised his hand. "What are you going to do about being dumb?"