Get Out of the Way and Just Listen

I am blessed in so many ways, and one of those gifts that I am reminded of at the most opportune times is that I have two of the most creative, thoughtful children. There is a myriad of ways that they prove this to me over and over again. So many times, I grow as a person and as a teacher just because I get to spend time around them.
Recently, my lovely offspring reminded me that I need to let my kids, those who call me Dad and those who call me Mr. Kohls or Coach alike, teach me more often. Every year that I teach, some kid teaches me to look at a piece of literature in a different way. So many poems, such as "The Lovesong of J. Alfred Prufrock" have touched varying cords with different students, and when they are allowed to tell me what they see, hear, and think, when they have the confidence to let those ideas guide our discussions, new angles are opened and amazing new lights are shed on the language and speaker of the poem. I look forward each year to diving in and hopefully watching a student, often one who might not be atop the list of most likely to deliver a literary gem, surface with a fresh pearl.
This week, my son Dylan wanted to talk. That in itself is an event. Dylan is not one to waste breath and effort on idle chatter. When he shares, it is usually something he has been rolling around in his head for a while or something he has been researching after a chance encounter. On this occasion, my boy wanted to talk about Of Mice and Men. SPOILER ALERT! IF YOU HAVE NOT READ IT, WELL, SHAME ON YOU. GET A COPY AND READ IT. THEN COME BACK HERE AND FINISH READING THIS POST. Dylan had been reading the novel in Miss Porter's English class, and he had read ahead and finished it on the bus that afternoon. He started the conversation with "I finished the novel today. And well, um, I cried a little." I told him that was good; it meant that the novel was worthwhile. It had moved him, which is a terrific thing. I also told him that I always teared up when I read the end of the novel, and sometimes even when Candy lets Carlson shoot his dog.  For the next hour or so, we talked about the classic and what the characters had done, why they had done it, and what it all meant. Then Dylan hit me with a new one. "Dad, I think the farm is supposed to be Heaven." I had not thought of it that way before. It represented dreams, hope, a future. Heaven? Hmm. Dylan went on to tell me that the farm was Paradise, it was the place that Lenny hoped to get to one day where no one would make fun of him, and no more bad things would happen. And he had to be good to get there. It was Heaven. He went further. The only way for Lenny to get there was to die. He had to die to reach Heaven because it was never going to happen on earth, and that is when he would be truly happy. So George let him go.
I did not lead him to this thought in any way. He just went there, and the more comfortable he became talking, the more his mind turned. And then he taught me. He reminded me that I sometimes need to get out of the way and let it happen.
Now, this is also the same kid who spun a joke during a conversation about the Rubio-Trump mudslinging that included a comment about Trump's small hands. Dylan's turn. "You know what they say about guys with huge hands, right? They get shot in the back of the head by their friend George."
My son.
Tonight, I was taught another lesson by my lovely daughter Emily. As a second semester frosh, she is taking 3D Design and is sculpting a figurine of Alice's (you know, from Wonderland) great-great granddaughter. As part of the project, she is also designing packaging artwork that involves other descendent characters. She had already sketched an amazing depiction of The Mad Hatter as inspired by the lead guitarist for Motorhead. Then we started bouncing ideas for other characters, inspired by rock legends, preferably from the from the 80s. Joan Jett-inspired Red Queen? Debbie Harry-influenced White Queen? We spent a long time throwing out potential models for the Blue Caterpillar. Jimi Hendrix? Jim Morrison? Iggy Pop? Axel Rose? It had to be somebody lanky.
What is the point here? We just turned the ideas to an arena for which Emily has a passion, in this case, hard rock, heavy metal, and classic rock. Then we just had fun with the ideas. Now her sketchbook is full of ideas that may grow and blossom. The possibilities are infinite.
I need to give my kids, all of them, the tools to dream and think, and then get out of the way. I need to supply support and encouragement, and the opportunity to grow, in knowledge, expectations, confidence, and passion. I know I need to be there and it is not always going to work perfectly. Sometimes I do need to deliver material or content, and I need to make it relevant. But sometimes, I need to just listen because when I do, kids surprise me. They show me new things and make me see old things in new ways.
They point out Heaven. And often, how to get there.

Of Harper Lee and Kurt Cobain: Small, Significant Moments

Now, before the English nerds out there not of my generation completely lose their minds and cry literary heresy because I have dared to couple the beloved Ms. Lee and the grunge icon in the same title, please hear me out. Before you raise a protest and demand revocation of my TNS (True Nerd Status), let me meander just a bit down a pathway that hopefully leads to a worthwhile end.

My daughter made her first foray into the world of blogging last night. She wrote to commemorate the birthday of Nirvana's Kurt Cobain, and to speak of the influence he has had on her.  She called him a mentor, and the story of her first exposure to his voice and the music of the band. She wrote, " For once, I was alright with being the quiet introverted artistic kid. "  That moment when Emily first hit play on the CD she had snagged from my dusty collection, she found a kindred spirit. Her granddad once asked my why Emily was so infatuated with Kurt Cobain, with Jim Morrison, with the band Green Day, and I told him because those artists, they were her. This is that girl, who much like Cobain, sometimes let her hair fall forward over her face, hiding those revealing windows to a sensitive, creative, thoughtful, and, sadly, sometimes tortured soul. You see: with those strands cascading past those eyes, one can still watch the world, but it makes it extremely hard for the people in that world to look back in. That way, they are kept at bay, separated by that curtain. It seems a little safer that way. I see several of those kids in my world right now, and I wish I could help them brush back the bangs, to let the world see the promise within.

I know: I put a lot of significance on a haircut.

As Emily describes it, that seemingly insignificant moment when she first hear Kurt Cobain sing "In Bloom" and "Come As You Are" was incredibly important. It changed her view of the world, of herself, and of her place in this world. It was a nothing moment, and it was everything. Emily has been blessed to encounter people in her education have enabled and encouraged her to find her voice, and to let it be heard. They let her explore her passions, and they help ignite others. I cannot thank those people enough for what they have done. A willingness to let those passions burn was stoked by what Emily called a "small, significant moment".

Emily's blog started me thinking: what other "small, significant moments" have changed lives. Then, as I read an article commemorating the passing of Harper Lee, one such moment for me struggled up from the depths of my memory and peeked into my consciousness. I remember Miss Jewel, the legendary English teacher at KMS, telling my parents how impressed she was with a character sketch I had written on Scout as part of our study of To Kill a Mockingbird.  I had written before that assignment, but that assignment, and her reaction to it, stays with me. It probably meant very little to her at the time; she was just giving feedback on assignments in her class, as she did so often on "Major Test" and sentence diagramming. But it meant a great deal to me. If it had not, it would not have stayed with me since that fateful day in the 7th grade. It was a small, significant moment. It may be why I continue to attempt to write. It definitely is part of why I teach.

Those moments are what I want to allow to blossom for each and every one of my kids. The problem with those moments is that they cannot be written into a lesson plan. I wonder which moments will have that positive spark? The kid may not even remember it, but it could allow them to feel something, some confidence or some comfort, which will allow them to one day do something amazing. One day, I had a conversation with a student about the movie Pacific Rim. We nerded out for a while. He seemed to get legitimately excited about speaking about the possibilities of an alien force residing deep within a fissure in the earth's crust, and the irony that one day nuclear energy will be classified as "old school".  Was it a monumental literary discussion? Uh, no. Could it have created a little bit of a connection that will lead the kid to maybe, just maybe, give some piece of literarature that I nerd out about as chance? Perhaps.

Recently, a colleague and I have been exposing our students to Shakespeare's writings. Greg Froese mentioned his ideas for an activity, and I stole it for my classroom as well. This led to what has taken on a bit of a life of its own and has been dubbed "The Sonnet Throwdown". Our students have been impressive, in their literary efforts and in their enthusiasm. (On a side note, the finals of The Sonnet Throwdown are going to be EPIC! I believe The Ocho, ESPN8, is currently in negotiations regarding the right to televise the event.) As the activity progressed, one student commented that if this is a competition, it needs to have a trophy. And at that moment, it was on. Like Donkey Kong. One of my students, a young man who is a dream to have in class but who I am going to lay odds will not say English is his favorite subject, partly because he is "not the creative type" (not my assessment, by the way) took that off-hand comment and ran with it. You see;  while he would rather ride than write and run a bead than count out beats, he is, in fact, the creative type. After employing a plasma cutter, welder, and a grinder, after meeting a time or two with his ag mech teacher, and after applying some unique skills and vision, he produced our trophy, a piece far beyond our expectation.

Within this activity were so many "small, significant" moments. What if we had grumbled or disregarded a student at any point along the way? What if Mr. Froese had not had the confidence to take a flash of brilliance one morning and turn it into an opportunity to help literature come alive? What if our kids had lamented having to study texts written by some dude 400 years ago and not spoken up and thrown out ideas, even though they would wreck the lesson plan and reading schedule? Small, significant moments.

We never know when those moments will happen. So, we have to assume each moment is one. We have to listen, we have to encourage, we have to be flexible, and we have to allow passions to ignite. We have to hit play on Nevermind; that tap might lead to a brushstroke that changes the world.

And changing the world is what we dream our kids will do. One small, significant moment at a time.

"I want to talk right down to Earth, in a language that everybody here can easily understand."

A couple of weeks ago, while working out in the weight room with a dozen or so young men and women, a particular song shuffled onto the playlist of my phone, which was broadcasting through the weight room's speakers. It was a cover of "Cult of Personality" by the 90s metal band Living Colour.

The song's opening lines are from a speech I could not place, so I asked the other coach who was with me at the time, who happens to be history teacher, and he too was not sure who was speaking the words, although they sounded incredibly familiar. As has become common, a google search saved the day. I won't reveal to you the answer, even though I would suggest you look for the results yourself. The song, and the quote, which resulted in a brief bit of research, led to a conversation as we continued to lift. Two teachers and several high school students intent on sweating away some calories and building some fast twitch fibers discussed major historical figures and the words they uttered that still ring today.

Some people would be amazed at how often such conversations actually take place. Once, while waiting for his turn in "the cage" during offensive line drills, a player asked me if a thought was more along the lines of an atheist or an agnostic, and what exactly was the difference? I will admit that this is one of the more thoughtful students I have ever worked with, but it was an interesting philosophical question and an exchange of knowledge and thought took place. LEARNING took place.

So where am I headed with this? I recently was struck by the use of the phrase "in the instructional classroom" as it applies to school funding. That phrase kept turning over in my head. Every day, so many teachers strive to take teaching beyond the four walls of the traditional classroom and push students to learn in whatever way possible. Tonight, as The Walking Dead returns with its first episode following its mid-season hiatus, more than one student and I will exchange thoughts regarding the plot, characters, themes, style, and symbolism presented in the show on A&E. Much of this conversation will take place via Twitter, and the feedback will be swift. How could I pass up such an opportunity? The series has used an intriguing non-linear storytelling style the past couple of seasons, and that has raised more than one literary discussion that may have never occurred otherwise. Former and current students have waited to initiate conversations on "TWD Mondays", many of which revolve around how this character or that character moves through the traditional hero's journey, how Daryl is the prototypical antihero, or how his angel's wings, once subtle and symbolic, have become soiled and ironic. The commercial for TWD mobile game uses the lines of Frost's "The Road Not Taken" in a startling new way, which allows for examination of tone and mood, and how different presentations and reading can alter a poem's effect. When Carol sobbed, "Just look at the flowers" to Lizzie, it prompted a discussion of the themes Of Mice and Men and the use of literary allusions. The opportunities for thought, for discussion, for learning, are surprisingly vast.

Every day, new opportunities to teach and learn present themselves. Sometimes they are expected and obvious. We grab hold of them and run with them. Hopefully, they work out and the kids are captivated. At other times, we do not even know those opportunities are there until we look back and see that they took place. Regardless, we need to be open to them, in whatever form they take. They may take us out of our comfort zones, and they may sometimes fail. Sometimes that is scary.

What they should be is exhilarating. Who would want to miss out on such opportunities, whether it happens inside four walls, in the weight room, or in the Twittersphre? It is all learning, and isn't that what we are searching for?

The Elusive Speech Bubble Selfie

Recently, there has been trend on Facebook and Twitter in which teachers post "selfies" with a speech bubble expressing "Why I teach". I love the idea because it allows teachers to share with one another the myriad of reasons why we all choose to spend our days in classrooms working with kids. It is an important exercise; it is a way for us to turn our gaze inward which needs to happen. Sometimes, looking inward, whether it be within ourselves as teachers and people, within the walls of our classrooms, within the structure of our teams and buildings, or within our profession, is vital because looking outward can be frustrating. So, looking inward it is.

So, why do I teach? I had the opportunity to truly consider this question during the application process for the Kansas Teacher of the Year program last spring. I, along with our elementary nominee and fellow semi-finalist Jennifer Keller, was fortunate enough to be nominated by the leaders of our district to be a part of the program. The process is one for which I am tremendously grateful, and it is incredibly humbling. I struggle with it at times. There are moments when I do feel as if I am a pretty good teacher; however, most days, I realize that I am not even the best teacher in our hallway at BHS. One blessing of the process is how it has forced me to reflect on "Why I teach" and focus on what I can do to better address that why. A second blessing is that I have an opportunity to meet and spend time with dedicated and talented teachers form across the state. Recently, we started our district visit "tour", in which we get to see the great things going on in the schools of each of our team members. We get to see their whys, and what their whys drive them to do each day. To put it simply, it is rather neat.

I will admit that I have not actually posted my "Why I teach" selfie. We were assigned to do it on our district workday in January, but I traveled with Samantha Neill to Hill City, America to work with teachers as they explore writing across the curriculum, and I never posted. Every time I see one of those posts on Twitter, I know I need to do mine as well, and I actually started writing my bubble on a dry erase board in my classroom one morning. I did not complete the task, however. I struggled with small space and necessary brevity, so when a student came in my classroom to ask a question, I just set it aside.

Honestly, none of the teachers who are posting these images truly sum up the "why" in short line within a bubble. They are presenting the essence of a single, minute aspect of their why, which most likely exists within a plethora of others that could fill reams of paper and yards of rolled butcher-block paper. For me, my why develops and grows every day, and often moment to moment.

This week, one of my whys came trotting toward me in Jim Baker Fieldhouse wearing a huge smile. She proudly told me about her afternoon, one that capped off a good day and that let her feel good about what she had done, something that she does not allow herself to do enough. My whys were in my classroom before school and in the counselors' office working on lines of verse and making me laugh. One why was in the newspaper, and I owe it to him to do the best I can in my little sliver of his life, for he is destined to do great things, as are so many others. They moved through my door over and over again, and during the brief moments we spent together, they made me proud and frustrated, they made me laugh and grumble, they challenged me and questioned themselves, and they made me tired and invigorated.

So, I suppose this week I will try to post that long-overdue selfie. Or maybe not.

Can I take a selfie without actually being in it? That is a selfie I can do. I might be on to something. The selfless selfie.