The Future of Education

A big shout out to friend, Joy L. for sharing this video.  It inspired me.  It made me glad to be a nerd, an old Trekkie (the term prior to Trekker.)  It also summed up my thoughts on education in a beautiful way.  There is a belief or idea that's crossed my path several times in my life.   The idea is this:  when the time is right, an idea or invention or shift in thinking will occur in many minds simultaneously around the world (or maybe even universe for those more "liberated" thinkers.)  It's this idea that seems to be behind the statement, "It's an idea whose time has come."  I have nothing more to add.

Who's Minding the Children?

Into each day a little humor must fall or it just isn't worth it.  Some days it's a difficult hunt for anything laughable.  On other days, the "fickled finger of fate" lights up and points its heart out.  Today (this was actually written on May 27th) was such a day.

Please note:  I am well aware that the following situations will not be funny to many readers.  This may be an indictment of my warped sense of humor.  There are many aspects of these situations that are not funny even to me but in a world gone mad, taking time out to see something funny has often been the only thing saving my sanity.  Please allow me to indulge in a few moments of levity.  Laughter often keeps the tears at bay.   My body and soul often demand it.

Recently, I squawked about the annoyance of being invisible and not considered worthy in some elaborate employee hierarchy whose caste system often mystifies and irritates me.  When I had asked the front office about whether or not my student would be involved in the testing and I suffered the burn of the invisible death ray shooting out of the secretary's eyes, I slunk away.  Then I came home took aim and wrote a stinging entry as an outlet for my frustration.

Today, I was delighted to find that I am not the only one and not the only caste that is out of the loop.  Even the math teachers had not been included in the vital communication that conveyed the very 'when, why and whos' of the upcoming math test.  With less than 1/2 hour to go on the Friday before the test, confusion was confounding all of the people who actually work with the students in the classrooms.  The mass confusion only angered those who had failed to communicate.  They continue to labor under the false assumption that there is no reason for confusion.  Yet, these geniuses managed to change the lists, etc. several times and thereby insured the confusion that resulted.  Nothing like a good game of "Blame the Victim."   To borrow a phrase from one of my favorite students, "Morons!"

I imagined myself giving the "suits" (this is the term used to described the powers making the decisions) a grade.  The grade I'd give them hasn't been invented yet but it's very close to XYZ.  Now if they'd only have enough sense to "examine their zippers" and realize their inability to communicate is showing big time.  The idea of suits, men and women alike standing in front of us with all their zippers down amuses me.  It may amuse me too much and my amusement is probably based on my feelings of inferiority but let me have my laugh.

Truth is, this latest episode of administrative insanity leaves me feeling quite good about myself.  Little can boost ones' spirit the way that a big snafu on the evil puppet overlord's part can. 

"Morons!"  I shake my head and laugh until I almost cry.

The "Fickled Finger of Fate" was not through with me yet.  There in the lunch room two equally unusual and eccentric substitutes found each other.  The combination was magical. . .I'm talking nightmare and not happily ever after.  I've had the dubious pleasure of being in attendance on several unpleasant occasions when these gentlemen were given the job of substituting for the regular teachers.  Current law requires that substitutes for teachers have current and valid teaching certification.  God, if they only knew.

There are a few wonderful substitutes.  Please note the use of the word, "few."  For the most part these two guys could be the frightening poster children for weird substitutes.  Both like to talk, almost constantly.  Sadly, neither has much to say.  They are both terrible listeners.   For purposes of my scathing attack, I am going to refer to them as Sub 1 and Sub 2. 

Sub 1 is an older gentlemen who always wears the same corduroy slacks and blue sleeved vest over a long-sleeved white shirt.  The last class I saw him in, he had the students play Pictionary on the overhead the entire time.    I have learned to avoid eye contact.  If you are foolish enough to make it, you are trapped by a flood of words about absolutely everything and nothing.  Getting away from him requires nerves of steel.  Yes, I know he must be lonely, insecure and dying for human contact but let's face it school is school.  He's there for the kids and not the other way around. 

He often appears in the lunch room and interjects himself into any conversation he can.  I feel for the guy but I really don't want to sacrifice my lunch to his constant chatter.  At the start of lunch, he sits in the table behind us.  After heating up his lunch, he loudly interrupts the conversation and says,

"Wow, that microwave sure heats hot.  I put my frozen dinner in for 5 minutes.  That's what it says on the box.  Well, I heated it for 5 minutes and now it sure seems hot!"

I try to smile politely but avoid any body language that would encourage further proclamations.

As fate would have it,  (The Fickled Finger is have a busy day) in walks Sub 2.    Sadly, Sub 2 has spooked every staff assistant that's ever worked near him.  Spontaneously, we've developed an underground railroad of communication.  When one notices he is on campus, they spread the word among the others.  Not only does this guy need constant adult supervision, he is down right creepy. This was a unanimous response before any collaboration occurred.  He seems determined to act oddly and say inappropriate things but it's hard to tell what he really means.  Initially, I tried to give him the benefit of the doubt but he keeps digging a bigger hole.

The students take one look at Sub 2 in the classroom and say, "Oh, no, not that guy again.  He's nuts."

I rarely think like a teen but in this I totally agree with them.  The first time I encountered him, I make the mistake of introducing myself.   He spent the entire class period trying to convert me to Islam.   I don't have any problems with Islam.    Too many Americans falsely believe that the religion itself is militant etc.  They couldn't be more wrong.  Ignorance would seem to be an equal opportunity malady.  I admire many within the Muslim faith and do not feel fearful or threatened by their religion.  Mohammad was actually a very good and peaceful man and so are most within the Islamic religion.  Extremists exist within any group.  It's extremist thinking that we need to fear not a religion or culture or race.  The problem I had with Sub 2 was that he didn't seem to realize that trying to convert me to Islam isn't what the district was paying him for.  The kids were noisy and could have been hanging from the ceiling for all he knew.

Sub 1 and Sub 2 meet and greet each other like friends.  I'm sure to Sub 1, Sub 2 was a friendly face in a sea of indifference.  Since they both love to talk and neither seem to have any listening skills, I knew this would be a good pairing.  They sit and begin to carry on almost two separate conversations.  At first talk of the microwave and lunch is enough to want to send me screaming.  "Do they have to be so loud when they talk about the hot microwave?" I wonder. 

"Isn't this test debacle enough irritant for a perfectly good Friday?"

It's raining.  Morale stinks.  Now I have to hear about how hot lunch gets again at decibels the human ear shouldn't be subjected to during LUNCH!!!!"

All these things I say only in my head.  And then, humor comes to roost.  I begin to find this whole interchange delightfully amusing.  Now, lest you think I'm just a horrible and cruel person, please know that my back was to both of them.  I sat watching the faces of the two women at my table go through a lot of expressions.  None of which were happy or relaxed.  I started to grin.  My dimples threatened to create huge craters in my face.  The faces of my companions eased and they too smiled as secretly as they could.

Meanwhile Sub 1 and Sub 2 where deep in odd conversation.  Sub 1 suddenly launches into a lengthy monologue about the death of Osama bin Laden and what the Pakistanis' knew or didn't know.  I'm not really sure which.  All I knew was that the topic was controversial at best and that Sub 2 is Pakistani.  When Sub 2 revealed this to Sub 1, Sub 1 was genuinely surprised.  Sub 1 would only have had to really listen and clue in to the possibility that Sub 2 was from the region of the world that he was badmouthing.  There is nothing like leaving a trail of explosives and then dropping a match.

Sub 1 then assumed that since Sub 2 was from Pakistan that he was an expert on the geography of the entire country.  Sub 1 continued to bury himself with his ignorant prattle as Sub 2 tried to tell him that he had never traveled to the region that was of such great interest to Sub 1.  Sub 1's diatribe ended their pleasant conversation about overheating microwaves.

Meanwhile, during this whole conversational faux pas, the faces, particularly the eyebrows of my  table mates were crackling with activity.  They registered annoyance and complete disbelief.    At this point, my wicked sense of the absurd kicked in and I started to grin.  When the verbal fumbling of Sub 1 brought camaraderie to a sudden halt, Sub 1 and Sub 2 quickly parted the lunch room each through a different door.  Nothing like watching a social train wreck that could have so easily been avoided by common sense and the ability to think before speaking.

Since Sub 1 and Sub 2 have cornered  me once too often and trapped me in bizarre or potentially explosive politically charged conversation, listening to matter and anti-matter meet and explode so quickly was perversely entertaining.  The nice person in me feels a little sorry for each of them.  The not-so-nice person feels that they got what they deserved.  Funny, how the fumbling of another form the basis of amusement.  Some days it's either laugh or cry.  Some days it's both.  Now I've got to find out what's really happening with the blasted math test.  It's not only that microwave that over heats.

The Forest Before the Universe

The clearest way into the Universe is through a forest wilderness-- John Muir

The forest presses in.  I’m a droideka, a Star Wars droid, instrument of destruction, an enemy of the Republic.  I’m a well-armed,  evil, metallic potato bug.  I can roll my metal-insect self into a ball and cover ground quickly in a rapid dust-generating roll.  Unlike a potato bug, I’m well armed and have the benefit of a self-generating shield.  I am a most excellent monster. 

My son, plays along side me.  We wage a war.  The prize is universal domination.  If I could only be a droideka in real life.  I’d roll everywhere and over everything.  I’d howl at the moon with a metallic war cry and shake a thin metal leg at the gods that be.  “I am the vindicator.” is what I’d say if I could talk.

“Mom?” A small voice breaks through the battle in my head.
“You’re actually doing pretty well.  You’ve got one more kill than I do!”
He is surprised.  I haven’t been paying attention.
“Mom?” The voice asks.
“Yes?” I reply.
“Are you thinking about what you’re doing or are you just doing it?
Without hesitation, I reply, “Just doing it.”
“That’s the secret,” my son says.
“You’ve got to get out of your own way and not think too much.”

This was a profound statement.  My son has no idea just how profound it is.   He was only referring to the world of the game but what he said spilled into all my other worlds as well.  He resumed protecting the galaxy from an enemy is some other corner of the game universe.  I went back to Mr. Potato Bug and rolled toward my enemies with dizzying speed.

I stop and slowly unfold my metal body and take aim.  With a quick push of the “L” button, I’m surrounded by a shimmering force field that is capable of casting off blue lightening bolts when I’m hit by enemy fire.  When I die, I die in a blaze of glory but not before making a nice dent in my enemies numbers and fire power.    I am a most magnificent monster.  In the distance, through the forest, the Universe awaits.

Camp Fear

Fear is the theme for the week.  It might be said that it's been the focus of an odd personal devotional.  I chant a litany of "Life is not for the faint of heart" while I tremble.
I'm afraid of just about everything.  Pretending I'm not is something I often do very well.
And yet, fear often fills me.  One recent night fear slapped me in the face with a dream so profound that the memory of it follows me still.

In the dream, I am running, running from fear, myself, from life.  Trapped in a corner, I'm left to face that which I fear most.  I must look my two greatest fears in the eye.  My heart is in my throat as I see what has been chasing me through the years:

the fear of being alone
the fear of being unhappy.

Irony swells up in my chest and forces itself out in a mind-shattering scream.  These fears have twisted themselves into a tangle of wretched self-fulfillment.  Despair opens before me like a giant black hole.  I fight the urge to jump and form an uneasy truce with fear.  I sit on the edge of the darkness and dangle my feet in the gaping hole.

Fear has been a most cunning opponent.  She has a ravenous hunger that is only satisfied by more fear, more of the same.  I have often over fed her.  Suddenly, I remember Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz.  Flying monkey fear has been menacing me.  Might I possess the power to return home just as Dorothy had? 

The black hole starts to close beneath my feet.  I hurry to pull my feet to safety just as the second fear leaps from the heart of the darkness and sits beside me.  The fear of being unhappy drapes a cold, bony arm over my shoulders.  It leers at me through a smile of broken teeth. 

I meet its gaze with my own.  The smile starts to crumble and it turns to dust.  With a smooth and graceful motion, I sweep it into the black hole. 
"Good riddance," I say softly.  It is a prayer of remembering.  I note the heartache this fear has brought to me and drop the memories one-by-one into the black pit.  They turn to rose petals as the darkness swallows them.

My fears have fought hard to live outside me.  They've really been a part of me all along.  The black hole no longer menaces.  I stand and walk across it and then back again.  It is solid.  I am not lost within it.  I look down and see my reflection gazing back up at me.  I bend down and gently touch its face.

The Mirror of Fear

Despite my efforts to avoid introspective entries, such writing insists on falling out of my head and onto the page.  I've decided not to fight it.  The words seem to know something I do not.  While I often find my personal style embarrassing in its dramatic language and confessional nature, the words insist on being written.  I've decided to get out of their way. 

My mind is always subject to change as it struggles to follow my heart.

Neglecting Just 10 has become the norm. Recently, it was obvious that I was avoiding contact and introspection.  I was struggling with this issue when I suddenly realized that I was deliberating generating a lot of self-perpetuating negative energy.  I was sitting dead center in my own private pity party.  This pity party had "evasion" written all over it.

Putting problems outside myself had been a way to escape them.  Standing in the open, blinking at reality, I trembled in fear.  It was time to say hello to what I was feeling.  Self-awareness wasn't through with me.  I replayed an impassioned speech I'd recently given another in the heat of an argument.  The realization that my words were meant more for myself than the one I was addressing slapped me in the head with a vengeance.  I'd displaced my problems and fears.  They had suddenly come home to roost.

At first, I wanted to hack away at my self esteem wielding a mental machete but I couldn't allow that. Mental machetes hurt.  They do not help.  Besides, it would only be a symptom of the problem it was trying to hide.  Yet, I also knew that I couldn't coddle and protect my inner self either.  It was time to face life without the defenses.  I had criticized another for allowing a negative attitude to become an excuse for not trying.  Denial blinded me.  I'd given up.  I just didn't know that I had.  Most of all, I had criticized another for "not seizing the life he'd been given."  What I was doing was worse.  I was pretending to seize my life while waiting to be rescued from it.

This was a lot to accept.  A flood of emotion swept through me.  It carried me through the day and into sleep.  There on a sea of dreams I floated like a sailboat without a sail.  The captain had jumped overboard.  I was going nowhere. 

While I lay in my sail-less, captain-less boat, I starred at a cloudless sky.  Life was passing me by.  It lie just below me.  I was only skimming the surface.  Reminding myself that life is not for the faint of heart, I shook hands with my fear.  Acknowledging it was long past due.  Fear had gotten out of control.  It was getting in the way.  I was experiencing a growing panic that often took my breath away.  It had a vice-like grip around my heart.  It was time we sat down for a talk.

"Hello, Fear. I'm sorry I haven't noticed you.  I am noticing you now."
Fear hissed, "It's about time." 
Fear sounded a lot like Voldemort.  Fears drama made me angry.
"Ok, cut  the crap.  You don't need to get all dramatic on me.  You're just a soft, timid chicken.  We both know it."
Fear doesn't look me in the eye.  I know it feels ashamed.
"You've got me," it says.
I continue in a softer voice. "Look, you're really messing me up.  I can't think clearly because of you.  You're making everything harder than it has to be.  You've got to stop scaring me."
Fear looks up.   It's soulful eyes touch the deepest part of me.  "I'm lonely," it says.
I open my arms and fear crawls in my lap.  Fear smells steely and cold.  Its skin has a pallid, mortuary hue.  I pity it but can't make myself embrace it.  It sits rigid and still.  It catches its breath as it stifles a sob.  I want to cry with it.
"We need to start out slowly, get used to each other," I say.
Fear sighs with relief.  Softly, it speaks, "Yes.  I would like that very much.  I just want to be noticed."
I pat the top of fear's head.  It is much smaller than I am.

After our talk, the panic that I feel eased.  I could see that I needed to be more honest with myself.  It was time to acknowledge what I could do with the life I've been given.  I've been ignoring it in favor of the life I wished I had.  This "wished for" life can never be.  It was time to go home and put a candle in the window and stop cursing the darkness.  Fear walks beside me.  We're getting to know each other.  Maybe we'll even be friends some day.

Dumb Little Man

I subscribe to Dumb Little Man and it often has some great and thoughtful articles.  Since In Just 10 is about listening, the entry from Dumb Little Man is spot on.

http://www.dumblittleman.com/2008/11/ten-ways-to-improve-your-listening.html?utm_source=feedburner&utm_medium=email&utm_campaign=Feed%3A+DumbLittleMan+%28Dumb+Little+Man+-+tips+for+life%29

Redirection

This has been a very pensive couple of weeks for me.  Finding the time to write has been difficult.  I've also been concerned about my lack of focus.  I realize that I do a lot of wheel spinning but often fail to get any where. 

I've developed a simple plan.  I'm going to get back to my original Just 10 idea and keep my writing short and sweet in this blog.  That doesn't mean I'm going to stop writing but I may stop giving so much away for free and focus on actually writing that book I keep threatening to write.

With so many things in my life and my family's life up in the air, I feel the need to anchor myself.

I will continue writing but focus on quick and simple ways to put the Just 10 idea into practice.  I'll share some links to the occasion blog or a web site that inspires me.

Thanks for reading.  Now, stop spending so much time at your computer and get out there and enjoy life!