Maybe I'm not Your Type

 Today is Sunday. This week we start back with students. We've been planning and prepping and meeting the last week, and may teachers have been planning in some form for months. Soon, TeacherTok and EduReels will be full of "Sunday Scaries" posts. I find those interesting. Do I get a little anxious, especially at the beginning of the year and throughout the fall? Sure. Am I scared? No. Really. No. Do I think some teachers really are? Yes. I understand that there are some out there who legitimately are. Do I think some teachers are a little overdramatic and jump on this trend with a little more gusto than necessary? Uh, yeah. But hey, if they need to do that to ramp up for the year and for the week, then they can go for it. It's satire (sometimes). And sometimes it's not that serious (as the young'ins might say).

So people will say, "Of course you aren't having Sunday Scaries. You're a type B teacher." 

And to that, I say, "Stop."

Just stop.

We have this bad habit as teachers of trying to categorize things and people. For a while now, teachers have been dropping their colleagues into boxes labelled "Type A" and "Type B."  I'm looking at you @educator_andrea. It is often in fun and does have its roots in what we see each day in our hallways. And it is kind of funny. Some teachers even take it and run with it, making it their whole teacher personality. Fine. Have fun. But here's the thing: it's inaccurate and, if we are being honest, lazy. 

I know full well that I would be dropped in the Type B Teacher box. Some of my outward habits make that an obvious choice. For those that do not know, from what I can tell, Type B teachers are those that roll into the classroom - often a little late - apparently with no plan, a vague idea of what day it is or where their desk is, a free spirit, and lax approach to all things structured. A calendar? Never. Sticky notes (according to the reels and tiktoks) are the only ways this person plans or organizes ideas, and usually they can offer little help to a colleague who needs something, because let's face it, they are just flying by the seat of their pants. 

And right now, some of you that know me, are saying, "yep, that's Kohls." And in some ways, probably not the ones you think of, I meet some of those criteria. However, as with all stereotypes and labels, I am not Type B in more ways, and in the ways that I find most important. Is my desk a mess? Sometimes, but I only use it as a place to put things because I'd rather sit with the kids, so it does not matter. Do I forget where I put my coffee cup? Sure. I move around the room a lot. Are there times when I cannot tell you with certainty what we will be doing on a specific day next week? Definitely. But that is not because my sticky notes are lost or I haven't planned that far ahead. Quite the opposite. 

Those "Type A" teachers who feel most comfortable when their carefully selected planners are written in using ink, duplicated for a 3 ring binder, transcribed to the Google calendar, and used to schedule Google Classroom posts weeks in advance (yes, that is an exaggerated and unfair generalization of type A teachers) may not realize this, but many of us "Type Bs" have been planning just as long. I plan as  I walk in June. When I drive. When I am sitting on the patio. They might be acute, a particular day's lessons, or they might be the big picture, stretching out in front of my along the walking path. Sometimes, those plans are jotted down immediately, if they are particularly striking or surprisingly polished. It might be on a sticky note. Or in a notebook. Or in my phones notes. Or a voice memo. More often than not, however, they roll around my skull, often for hours or days, developed and revised in chunks and portions, added to and tossed and recalled from the scrap heap, before they are ready to flow as ink or graphite across a page. And even then, it may not ever make it to the typed page or a spiraled planner, which I do not own. But when it is ready to be implemented, it has been rolled through the creative cycle, often multiple times. 

And sometimes we do find it worthwhile to step off that trail that was laid out, to follow a faint rabbit trail or the sound of an unseen and unplanned wonder that might lay around a corner. You know, the whole "Road Not Taken" thing. And sometimes it does make all the difference. And sometimes, to harken back to Kid President, there are rocks, and glass ("Not cool, Robert Frost!"). But we are somewhat fine with taking that risk, probably because we have rolled something like it through the fog of our minds hours, days, or months ago. We just didn't write it down or pick a day or time to pencil it in. We just planned for it to happen at some point. And we know where the main trail is, or at least where it eventually leads, and know we will get back there.

It's not that we do not care or feel like planning is worthwhile. We plan. We care. A lot. Probably too much or we would put ideas on paper sooner, rather than rolling them around to see if they gather moss. We simply are ok with veering away from that guide and that mental work if we see it as valuable. Call it confidence, if you want. We are sure enough in what we are doing to let it go a little bit. Or call it insecurity. Nothing is ever perfect, so sure, if something new comes up, we'll give it a shot. 

And if that is not you, that's ok. If your confidence skyrockets with each entry in your planner and your comfort level corresponds with the numbers of weeks ahead you have planned, that is fine. As they saying goes, "We're built different." And that's ok. We are going in the same direction and toward the same destination. We should be able to help each other along the way. 

I guess where I am going, eventually, is this: the memes and skits are funny, but putting people in boxes and thinking that is everything about who they are is frustrating, judgy, and a little dangerous. If we are willing to do this and do it unthinkingly with those we work with, then we are going to do it with our students. And when we do this, it is often done so we can judge them. I know, despite trying not to, that have done it. I have to be better. I can always be better. And I will be.

I have a plan. 

"'Little ditty 'bout so much more than Jack and Diane"

I have the pleasure of teaching a class titled Pop Culture Literature, and in that class we dive into=, popular culture literature. The semester usually begins with song lyrics, and this year, and the beginning of the semester, has been rich with text to choose from, supplied by the likes of Kendrick Lamar, Phoebe Bridgers, Taylor Swift, Luke Combs, and others. This week, as we reviewed the elements of narratives and storytelling, we jumped in tot he wayback machine and pulled up a classic from when I was the age my students are now: "Jack and Diane" by John Cougar Mellencamp. Simple story from a simpler time used to review simple concepts. Or so I thought. This is what happens when you ask kids take our material and lessons and apply the critical thinking skills they supposedly are not being taught "these days."

 

The conversation began easy enough, a somewhat traditional lesson, as we identified the speaker (3rd person POV), discussed the setting (small town in the American heartland, outside the Tastee Freeze), and began to look at the conflict. After all, without a conflict, there is no story. That is where it got more interesting. The tale is one of Jack and Diane against the small town they are growing up in, doing the best they can, right? My students thought differently. "I don't like her," one student said, and when I asked "who?" she said, "Diane. She's holding him back." The conflict is between Jack and Diane. 

To paraphrase the analysis: Jack wants more. He's "gonna be a football star." Future tense. He wants more than the small town has to offer. Diane is "debutante," the princess in this small town. She has her placem socially. She doesn't want to leave. If she "runs off to the city" she'll be nobody. She'll lose her status. But she can't let Jack see what the larger world offers because he'll see that too, so she tries to convince him "we ain't missin' a thing" there in their little Bible Belt town. 

Jack did not go unscathed either. According to some of my kids, he is telling Diane that she isn't good enough for him, that life with her is, or will one day be, boring, and he has "major FOMO." He fears losing the thrill of living and having to endure a boring life in a boring town with her. Ouch. And he's pretty self-centered. He talks about what he wants, and wanting to "do what I please" with little regard for what Diane wants. (And yes, they got that line, and many of them were more than a little flabbergasted by it.) Yes, he is expressing the age-old lament of teensagers in small towns - to run off to where there is something, anything more - but Diane is small town, and she likes it. So he wants to run away from her. 

So why are they even together? That was the next question. I can't remember if I asked it or if they did - as these conversations build, they ask as many questions of each other as I do of them, and that is how it should be. Essentially, they said, he's the star football player, and she is popular girl. They are expected to be together. They don't fit, and they have different goals and dreams, but the expectation is that they will be together. Who else would they choose? So they get together, hang out, and maybe even sneak off behind the shady trees. But they don't really fit together as people. "Neither one is wrong," my kids said. "They just want different things."  To quote the T. Swift lyric we looked at on Tune Tuesday, "We learned the right steps to different dances." No one is the villain here. They just shouldn't be together. 

That's quite the blow to the teenage Kohls who didn't really listen too closely beyond "Suckin on chili dog" and air drunmed into the bridge. But it makes sense. The conflict is never resolved. Some felt they stay and grow up in the small town. Jack doesn't argue with Diane, afterall, and maybe she did remind him that they were not missing anything. They had what they needed to be happy. Others feel Jack moved on - "And walk on" - and leaves to go be a football star, maybe going to college while Diane stays put. Or, as one student said, "They're 16? Why are talking about running off now? They have time." Good point. Does the conflict need to be resolved at that moment? If they are not careful and don't slow their roll, they may be made "women and men" before they are ready. BTW, they question that too. They bring up the "back in my day" living in the Bible Belt, and yet needing saving as 16 year olds. 

Here's where I was headed with this: We hear so often that we are not teaching our kids to think critically. But we are. We have been. It takes many forms, but it is developing those skills. This little discussion about narrative elements - one early in the semester - allowed these kids to flex their critical thinking muscles, to hone their critical eyes, and not gloss over what they have in front of them without wondering. They didn't wait for answers or for me to tell them what to think. They asked questions, they disagreed with me, and with each other. We start with seemingly simple texts, like "Jack and Diane," and build into some more difficult ones that pull in so many important issues for them and for us as a whole. Kids are thinking and they have ideas about this world, their world, and about what they want, or don't want. They question things. They wondered what it would have been like for Jack and Diane, with no cellphones, no Life 360, no posting everything to Snapchat or Instagram, and just being able to be 16 and bored, or 16 and happy. 

And no, they don't really see the world the same as we do. They bring more information into their views than we ever did. They sometimes want more. Sometimes, they want less. Essentially, they want to have a chance to grow up and tell their stories. 

And so do I. We all deserve "a little ditty."

"An Important Insight"

 I have gotten away from writing for others to read. I have been writing, but it has been for me. Some of my writing has been creative, while some has been reflective. Some are just random thoughts. I heard on a podcast episode from The Daily Stoic titled "Paper Trails: How Notebooks Changed the World" that discussed how so many great people have written not to be read by others, but to gather thoughts for themselves, to allow them to reflect, to hash out ideas, to record their state of mind at the time for reexamination later. I by no means consider myself a great man, but I do hope to learn from them. So I write now much more for me, with no intention of it being read, and it has helped me. I think I am a little more authentic and honest with myself in those sessions. 

With that being said, I feel that today's ideas deserve to be read. These ideas are not mine, but they are the thoughts of some of my students, and what they said is too good to be kept to myself. Of course, I shared it with a friend and fellow teacher who teaches the same class, but a broader sharing is necessary.  It's that good. 

Today, we completed our Poetry Bracket Challenge Classic Region. The two poems still standing in this region were "Speak Gently" by David Bates and "Dulce Et Decorum Est" by Wilfred Owen. These two poems had won favor by my students over pieces such as "Nothing Gold Can Stay," "Do Not Go Gentle into that Good Night," "My Papa's Waltz," and other greats. Both poems are powerful in different ways. Numerous students love "Dulce Et Decorum Est" because of its vidid story, because the poet is able to put us inside the gas mask, on the muddy road leading away from the trenches, and make us feel the horrific chaos of the scene. We are able to see his perspective, one that none of us have ever had to experience. Powerful, painful, moving, emotional. Those were words that floated out to describe the poem as a whole. We talked about how the poet created those emotions. They did the same for "Speak Gently," but the emotions are obviously different. Uplifting, inspiring, hopeful. 

Then we had a moment that I, as a teacher, truly cherish. I don't know if has the impact on the kids that it does on me, but it is the kind of thoughtful, meaningful moment, that hits me. There have been a plethora of thoughtful comments and meaningful discussions, and yet this one stands out for me. It gives me hope, honestly. One student, Megan, raised her hand, waiting patiently and politely for other students to finish their thoughts (as she often does). She expressed that she prefered "Speak Softly." She said she appreciated the message of the other poem and how it was delivered, but ofr her, "Speak Softly's" message stood out. I hope I get her words correctly because when she said them, they struck me. "If we listened to "Speak Softly" more, maybe we wouldn't have what happened in 'Dulce...'." 

If we listened to "Speak Softly" more, maybe we wouldn't have what happened in 'Dulce'."

We had discussed how different these two poems are in so many ways - style, word choice, poetic structure, subject matter - and yet here was Megan, pointing out how closely tied these poems could actually be. How what appears so divergent is actually hold a common, meaningful thread. But we have look for it. We have to want to. 

I often say it my classes: they give me hope. Maybe we need to start listening. 

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"Dulce et Decorum Est"

BY WILFRED OWEN - 1920

Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,

Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,

Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs,

And towards our distant rest began to trudge.

Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots,

But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;

Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots

Of gas-shells dropping softly behind.

Gas! GAS! Quick, boys!—An ecstasy of fumbling
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time,
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling
And flound’ring like a man in fire or lime.—
Dim through the misty panes and thick green light,
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.
In all my dreams before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.

If in some smothering dreams, you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil’s sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,—
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori.

Notes:
Latin phrase is from the Roman poet Horace: “It is sweet and fitting to die for one’s country.”
Source: Poems (Viking Press, 1921)

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"Speak Gently"

by David Bates - 1845

Speak gently! It is better far

To rule by love than fear;

Speak gently; let no harsh words mar

The good we might do here!

Speak gently! Love doth whisper low

The vows that true hearts bind;

And gently Friendship's accents flow;

Affection's voice is kind.

Speak gently to the little child!

Its love be sure to gain;

Teach it in accents soft and mild;

It may not long remain.

Speak gently to the young, for they

Will have enough to bear;

Pass through this life as best they may,

'Tis full of anxious care!

Speak gently to the aged one,

Grieve not the care-worn heart;

Whose sands of life are nearly run,

Let such in peace depart!

Speak gently, kindly, to the poor;

Let no harsh tone be heard;

They have enough they must endure,

Without an unkind word!

Speak gently to the erring; know

They may have toiled in vain;

Perchance unkindness made them so;

Oh, win them back again!

Speak gently! He who gave his life

To bend man's stubborn will,

When elements were in fierce strife,

Said to them, "Peace, be still."

Speak gently! 'tis a little thing

Dropped in the heart's deep well;

The good, the joy, that it may bring,

Eternity shall tell.