Can We Help Kids Love Reading?

This summer, the ELA team at Buhler High has been exploring new and exciting ways to better serve our kids when they once again pass through the doors of our classrooms this fall. Five of us ended up in the upstairs south hallway of BHS last week, and, as we made suggestions about possible classroom designs, laid claim to rolling carts, and help one another move furniture for individualized plans for flexible seating, we talked about new short stories and novels to use in class and new ways to encourage our kids to read. We had all attended either NerdCamp or EdCamp this summer, Twitter is turning into a treasure trove of experts, articles, and blogs that inspire and drive us, and Book Love is gaining traction as a book study selection for all of us, plus our middle school team members.

It is an exciting time, and it is a great day to be a Crusader.


As usually happens, however, when an idea gains momentum and begins to turn toward becoming a movement, questions arise. The question that we hope guides each and every decision in our school and our classrooms is "Is it good for kids?" If that is answered in the affirmative, the next question must be "How can we make it happen?" Our desire to use flexible seating, something that has been present in some form and to a moderate degree in many of our classrooms without it being named as such, is based upon doing what is best for each of kids, upon what will provide the best environment for each of those students to learn most effectively.

We are also considering those questions when we discuss how we approach reading in our classes. Developing the ability to read is, without argument, good for our kids. Developing a love of reading, which will help that ability develop, is good for kids. Developing live-long learners who can then tap into that love for and ability to read is definitely good for our kids. Now, how do we make that happen? Ah, there's the rub.

A friend and colleague of mine, Samantha Neill, wrote last week about how easy it is to kill a good book (read her blog). My last blog post was on reading ("Reading's for Rich People"). Miss Porter and I spent an hour this week just talking about "nerding out" about certain authors and topics and how we can transfer that to our students. I could go on. Reading and developing our kids into strong, effective, and engaged readers is prominent in our minds, and the fact that it is late June does not dampen that; it amplifies it because we are excited to embark on another journey with our kids in a few short weeks. The question remains and drives us: how can we make it happen?

One area we are discussing at length is student choice in reading in an effort to increase reading volume and engagement, and, in turn, build the stamina and skill to allow for higher-level reading. A recent Twitterchat discussion that I stumbled into raised the question of increasing reading volume. I lurked for a bit (yes, I do that on random interesting chats, and yes, I learn something important almost every time). Much of the conversation focused on increasing the number of books students read, setting up competitions and recognizing students who read the most books, creating book races to encourage students to read more books more quickly, and the like. Many of these ideas were focused on late elementary and middle school students. I wondered if this is really what we want as we try to develop a love of reading in our kids.

When my daughter was younger, early elementary age, she and her mother both became concerned because she scored rather low on the local reading assessment. I was not frustrated with her score or her ability to read; I knew where she stood when it came to comprehension, and we read together quite often. What I was frustrated with was that the sole local assessment in reading at that level was a timed fluency test in which the student was asked to read aloud for 60 seconds and the number of words she pronounced correctly was recorded. That was it. Now, I know developing fluency in readers is incredibly important. However, my daughter was told she was a poor reader based on this single assessment. My daughter has always been a thoughtful reader. If she read "The quick, brown fox jumped over the lazy dog," she was going to stop and wonder "why would a fox do such as ludicrous thing?" If she read a passage that used the color red in one sentence, and then used crimson in a later line, she was going to go back and reread the line using red because using two different words to describe the same, or similar, color must be important. She didn't put this habit aside simply because it was a fluency assessment. That never crossed her mind. She was reading, and, therefore, she was thinking. I am to blame for this. That is how we always read. We always asked questions, and we thought about it. I refused to apologize for teaching her that.

A few years ago, I had a student in honors freshman English who told me the first day that she was the best reader in her class. She could read multiple books over a weekend. I told her that was neat, and that we would read quite a bit, so that should help her. A couple of weeks later, she came in on Monday and told me she had read three books that weekend, including one I recommended, 1984. I told her I was excited, that we could talk about the novel. I asked her how she felt about Julia. She responded that didn't really have any feelings for her. That was interesting, as most students have strong feelings of some sort toward the boisterous member of the Junior Anti-Sex League who has an illicit affair with the novel's protagonist. I asked about how the rats were used in the interrogation, and she remembered rats but not why they were used. I asked her if the bullet entering the protagonist's brain was literal or metaphorical. She had not thoughts on that matter. "I read the book!" I remember her saying. "Can I take an AR test or something?" I had no doubt that she had read over every word in that classic novel. I also knew in my heart that she had not consumed the book in any way. She had just read it. Quickly. And that had always been enough. That had always been the goal.

We started talking more about what she read. She had to slow down, which was just a difficult for her to do as speeding up just to read more quickly was difficult for my daugher. She could still wolf down some things that she read, barely tasting anything but the most prominent flavors, but she had to develop the ability to recognize when to slow down, when to savor each page and paragraph as morsel to be enjoyed for its richness. Why was it so hard for her to do that? It was difficult because reading fast was what she did. She was good at it. It was her thing. Eventually, she seemed to learn that having truly in depth conversations about what she read, from Harry Potter to Fahrenheit 451, from "The Scarlet Ibis" to "Lamb to the Slaughter", could be just as rewarding as finishing a book before everyone else. However, she was reluctant and was even angry that her speed was not recognized as the most important aspect of her reading.

So, how do we develop the ability of our kids to read, to read well, and to read fluently, without developing robot readers? How do we push our students to be excited not because they finished a book but because the book was good and made them think as they read it? I honestly believe student a shift in attitude is paramount in this endeavor. We face the challenge of nudging students away from seeing reading as something they simply have to do and need to get done, quickly, toward an experience that worthwhile, rewarding, and, sometimes, enjoyable. Once again, we face the question of "How do we make it happen?"

I believe that two aspects of reading that can help propel the shift are choice and time. We should guide kids to read challenging pieces and the greatest of literature, but I also feel we should encourage them to read what grabs them.  Beowulf and Hamlet must be pieces we make accessible and guide our charges toward and through, but graphic novels that include stellar character development and intriguing plotlines can be an effective way to engage students in the act of reading and help them begin to develop as readers. Comic artist and graphic novelist Art Spiegelman said, "Comics are a gateway drug to literacy." We should not tear down a work a student likes and wants to read as being "fluff" when that "fluff" may be the very thing that draws a kid in and allows him to enjoy reading for the first time. After all, to get our kids to be strong, thoughtful readers, we must first allow them to become just plain readers. This is something that has been discussed quite a bit by Sam Neill, Greg Froese, Amber Neighbor, Andrew Bauer, and others lately in our English Nerds Voxer group. (On a related note, the powerful learning tool that is Twitter has allowed me to follow Tim Smyth @historycomics,  a powerful voice in advocating the use of comics to teach history and improve literacy. I have not met him face to face or heard him speak, but his passion online is evident, and he is more than willing to share lesson ideas.) This idea applies not only to comics, but also to popular literature that is often looked down upon by English teachers as not worthy of being allowed in their classrooms. Twilight, Goosebumps, Harry Potter, and many offerings from Nicholas Sparks come to mind.

We must also give students the time to read, especially if they are reluctant readers. Giving them the time may allow them to discover that they can actually get into what is printed on the page, especially a page that they have chosen to read. Once they do, they will be much more willing to give their time outside of our classrooms to reading as well. If we force them to see reading as only something they are forced to do and that only involves texts that hold nearly no interest or relevance to them, they will never shift from having to read to wanting to read. However, if we can move them toward wanting to read what they have found to be interesting and worthwhile and give them the time to do it, then they just might develop the skills that will make the more difficult texts accessible, and, therefore, open the door for them to read them as well.

And once that door opens, there is no limit on where they can go.

Reading's for Rich People

Summer is a time of travel and vacation. This summer, I have taken a trip to Alabama, where I spent time with an old friend who had grown up, and I discovered that I know longer like her as much. She is kind of annoying, and her loveable and endearing naivete is gone. Later, I made a pass through Tennessee, through a land of low mountains and caves, small towns and family farms. I discovered that this part of our country is apparently inhabited by some deeply disturbed individuals. Deeply disturbed. Right now, I am on a trip through the mountains Mexico, making the trip on horseback from New Mexico south. It has been an interesting journey, and I am anxious to see what lies ahead. It reminds me of last summer when  I made another trip through Mexico and spent time on a wide hacienda. I have been on some amazing rides, let me tell you. 

In years past, I was blessed to peer into the lives of some amazing men, including the greatest football coach of his time, a man once approached during the same elections season by both the Democratic and Republican parties about serving as a vice presidential candidate.

Now, if you know me, you are incredibly confused at this point. You know that I would rather spend a summer working football camps and painting than paying for any type of vacation. My family sees a trip to Wichita as an adventure, and hitting Krispy Kreme while the Hot and Fresh sign is flashing is a major event. So what is up? Bear with me. 

In the remake of the classic football/prison movie, The Longest Yard, the character played by Chris Rock and known as Caretaker tells a fellow con, a massive manchild who cannot read, that he should not worry; reading's for rich people. Now, I put a great deal of thought into the literary value and the poetic truths that can be gleaned from cinematic offerings. This movie, while a fun 90 minutes or so of jokes, innuendo, music montages, and football footage, is not a masterpiece. However, this line actually carries quite a bit of meaning despite its comedic intentions. 

Reading is, in fact, for rich people. 

That can be taken a number of different ways. First, reading makes a man, makes any person rich. Knowledge currency, and knowledge is power. Reading allows the acquisition of knowledge. To read is to learn. This summer, I have read blog entries on teaching strategies, flexible seating, engaging reluctant readers, motivating today's young athletes, defending the no back, and so many other topics. I am growing more professionally now than at any time on my career as a teacher. Twitter, reading in 140 character bites, has opened up a world of learning opportunities for me, and I am invigorated. I am rich. 

Reading also allows me to experience moments that I would never experience otherwise. That trip to Alabama? I booked that through Harper Lee (RIP). The disturbing jaunt through the mountains? Cormac McCarthy guided me down those dark roads, as well as the horseback rides rides through Mexico. A few summers back, I met Vince Lombardi in a somewhat intimate way through a volume titled When Pride Still Mattered. Each time I read, I go somewhere, I experience something, I meet someone that is most likely far beyond my pedestrian reach. But through the pages of a book, through the artfully crafted words of masters, I can go anywhere, and I can experience almost anything. I am rich. 

The way I look at it, I was given my inheritance early in life. My earliest memories include books and newspapers.  My dad, a carpenter whose best high school yearbook picture showed him drooling and asleep with his head on a desk, was one of the most educated men I have ever met. Sure, he took some college classes through Barton County outreach over the years, but that is not even part of what makes him such an impressive individual, education-wise. At any given time. anywhere from three to seven books would be stacked up next to Dad's chair in the living room. Biographies, historical accounts, and political texts would sit open, marking the page where Dad had paused in his reading. Each day's newspaper was scanned by eyes that absorbed ideas and rhetoric from text and filed it away for discussion and consideration later. I do not remember sitting in Dad's lap as his finger tracked the words of the Mobile Ledger, but I do remember having my own spot on the floor, where those papers and my books would be scattered. Mom's chair had its own mountain of reading material; historical fiction novels were more her style, but the stacks were no less impressive, and the turnover was just as consistent and constant. If Dad was busy reading in the evening, it did no good to go to Mom; she was reading too. My parents opened an account for me and my siblings early in life, and they made deposits faithfully as we grew up. The reading habit was own trust fund, and, believe, me, we were rich. 

I have done my best to give my daughter and son the same type of early inheritance I was granted. Their mom's side table usually has a book. Heidi reads the daily paper before I get up each day, and Heidi and Emily pass magazines back and forth. I was third on the list when Go Set a Watchman came in after Heidi pre-ordered it. Emily has her own blog and many of her paintings and drawing as inspired by her reading. Dylan reads and writes an hour each day this summer because he wants to be a writer, and that is his summer workout. His Christmas list was a bookstore shopping list. My hope is that their inheritance can be even close to the one passed to me. 

In addition to my blessed progeny, I am also blessed to work a number of other young people who each year become "my kids". It is my duty to do whatever I can to pass on a love of reading to them. Unfortunately, I do not have a lifetime with each of them. So, what we do has to be powerful, and it has to effective. That is the rub, as the Bard would say. How can I help each student who passes through my door make deposits into the trust fund that reading provides. Some have wealth when they walk in. I need to help them invest and build their capital. Others are nearly broke. I have find a way to help those young people invest. It is vital that they do so. 

I want them to be rich. 

Teacher Treasure

Today, I was given something that can only be described as a Teacher Treasure. If you are one of the fortunate souls who finds himself happily immersed in the world of teaching, living the lifestyle, you know exactly what a Teacher Treasure is.

What exactly is this prize? A young lady emailed me and asked for my help. The help is honestly nothing, but it was the motivation for the request that is a gold deblume of the highest purity. The young lady making the request was a student of mine this year in Honors Sophomore English, and she is a poet. She filled me in on a little project that she and a friend, another student in HSE, were working on. The poet, M, thrived during our study of spoken word poetry, and her partner in rhyme, L, is a bit of a videographer. They had developed this project in which M's poetry might come to life through L's gifts with visual storytelling. They are almost finished shooting the footage they plan to use but were in need of one more location: a classroom. M wondered if I would be able to help them out. They hated to ask, but they also knew I would not be able to say "No."

A request to let two students into a classroom to shoot footage for a spoken word poetry film project, a project being undertaken not to complete some assignment and earn an A, but to feed a hunger to create, to produce, to grow.

That, my friends, is Teacher Treasure.

How can I view it in any other way? Two students are learning and growing, on their own, tapping into strengths that they have discovered and that they are letting me in on. I won't make a penny more from the experience, and I cannot claim it for professional development points that will help be relicense when the time comes. And yet, that email is as rewarding as anything one could imagine. The poet and filmmaker probably have no idea that I would see the email not as an imposition or duty but as a blessing. They will know how much it will mean to me view the finished product. I won't pretend not to be immensely proud of them both. After all, I try to be sincere with my kids, and to hide that pride would be unfair to them. Besides, when it comes down to it, I owe them, and every one of those kids who have filled my life with these moments.

We have to remember that, and never forget to collect those glittering moments, whether they be a note from former student who has reached new levels of success, a graduation photo of a paper tiger, a clipping recounting a championship run, a post on a creative writing blog, or simply a smile on a morning when you tell a kid "Nice job". We need to rummage through the treasure trove from time to time,  peering into the golden surfaces and the clear diamond depths, remembering what makes them so valuable and why they so effectively purchase the passion that makes this more than a vocation.

When Kids Make You Tear Up

I am going to admit that this is one of those posts that rambles a bit. I am not sure exactly where I was headed, but I felt compelled to write about this, so I did. - JK

"Are you crying?"

That was a question posed in my classroom a couple of weeks ago. And yes, it was lobbed my way. Actually, I was not really crying. I just had a little moisture on my lower eyelid that resembled a tear.  If you had been in my room, you would understand.

At that point, I was laughing so hard, water fell out of my eyes. One student had just completed a reading of his Spoken Word Poem, a masterpiece titled "Mr. Kohls". One of the kids looked up at me and queried, "Mr. Kohls, are you crying?"

I answered honestly. "I've teared up several times this hour." Why lie? It was their fault.

We were wrapping up our poetry study as the school year wound down, and I had challenged my honors sophomores to pen a spoken word poem which they would then present to the class. Of course, "Do we have to say it out loud?" was the first question. I am not sure what part of "spoken word" the student was missing, but I answered, "Yes, but I won't make you stand up."

"Oh, ok then," he responded. It was the easy. As long as he didn't have to stand up, it was all good.

My kids are weird sometimes.

At other times, they are amazing. That day, I told them to get out their cell phones and place them on top of their laptops. I then told them to leave them there was we left the room and headed out to Crusader Field. I was going to lock the door, and everything would be all right. We were going outside, and we were going to write, on paper, with pencils. We spent the next 45 minutes scattered around the green turf and maroon endzones, kids sprawled out on the surface or leaning up against up against the goalposts. And, for the most part, they wrote. When one student said he could not come up with something to write, I told him to write about that. One young lady asked me to read what she had started; it was a piece on how the world might change if we didn't have cell phones.

"The room is lit up like a blazing fire had just been ignited.
But not a single light switch is turned on..."

Some would not let me see what they had written, while others asked me multiple times to check out what was scrawled on the notebook paper. One class was even a little late getting to their next hour because we lost track of time because they were into what they were doing. On the way inside, Raegan thanked me. When I asked her what for, she told me it was the longest she had gone without looking at her phone in as long as she could remember, and she felt good about that. She had written more, and better, than she had in a long time.

(On a side note, I geek out about tech in our classrooms. We are 1:1 laptops, and I love it. We are nearly paperless. I let my kids use their phones to do things in class, and I let them listen to music when they write or read. On this day, however, I felt like leaving it all behind was worthwhile.)

The next day, my second hour begged to do it again.

Now, I won't try to tell you that each and every one of the kids produced a masterpiece worthy of high literary praise. and not every topic was earth-shattering, at least not on the surface, but they were their topics and their words, and not a single kid balked at producing and presenting. Some of the pieces stood out, however, and, yes, they caused moisture to collect across my bottom eyelids.

One young lady wrote about how horrible she felt as she thought of having to present what she had written to our class. Her voice quivered as she began to deliver her lines, and her eyes never rose from the page that shook in her hands. She uttered one of the greatest lines I have heard as she personified her anxiety:

"He is the weight on my back telling me to stand up straighter as he holds me down."

She finished, and as she took a deep breath in the silence before the first class member started the traditional snaps, I heard someone across the room whisper, "Wow." The activity for the day would not appear explicitly anywhere on a state assessment report card, but it was a victory, not just for Emma, but for so many of the kids who had a chance to shine that day. The girl who wrote that family is not everything, at least not for her, because her family situation is something she must overcome, the boy who penned a piece about his social anxiety and presented for the first time all year in any class, the multiple young ladies who wrote about doubting their self-worth because they question whether what they see in the mirror each day will be seen as pretty. I am not sure if it is because I am the father of a daughter or because these girls are truly good and beautiful people who should never doubt their value, but that one bothered me. One student wrote passionately of the love she has for music, painting a picture of little girl dreaming of being a lead singer in a rock band, only to discover that she couldn't sing. Another wrote of her love of 'home': 

"Home-grown

Like a seed planted in the soil

Watered and weeded

We grow taller and taller

Our buds aching to find the sun

Twisting around to be graced by the bright

Warm

Light

But still anchored firmly in the ground..."

One poem was inspired by Hakuna Mutata of The Lion King fame, and another explored the importance of eye-contact. One young man wrote about the feeling of hurling pitches from the mound while another penned an ode to the weight room. I could go on and on. The topics were as diverse and wide-ranging as, well, the personalities of the people I am blessed to work with each day.  I was given a brief glimpse into the hearts of some of these kids, a little shutter flash that many struggle to allow. It makes them vulnerable, and for some of those kids, that is the last thing they want to feel when they come to school. If they are going to let me in, if they are going to sincere and genuine with me, I owe it to them to be same. So, if I tear up listening to them read, I am not ashamed to let them see that. My "football coach" status does not preclude me from letting them see me as vulnerable. It is not always fun or easy for me, as was put on display when my fifth-hour seniors demanded I read them the poem I had handed them just before class ended on their last day, a piece titled "A Letter to my Seniors". I wasn't planning to read it outloud to them because I knew I would struggle to make it, but when Tiffanie said, "Hey, you made us read our stuff," I had no way out. They deserve my sincerity. Every one of my kids does.

And they continue return the investment many times over.

The PLN at Our Fingertips

In the last year or so, I have had the distinct pleasure of taking part in something that invigorates me as a teacher and supplies me with a seemingly bottomless treasure chest of resources and motivation as I try to work more effectively with my students. If this was an infomercial, now would be the time when the enthralled host would breathlessly utter "And what magical experience would that be, and how can our viewers get in on this?" The answer is simple: I discovered the modern tools to help me develop my PLN, or Professional Learning Network.

Before you click the X in the corner of the page and abandon this page, let me beg you to bear with me just a little longer because "WAIT! There's more!"

I am proud, and a little embarrassed, to be honest, to say that I am a 2016 Kansas Teacher of the Year Semi-Finalist. This program has allowed me to spend several days visiting the districts of truly talented teachers from around central Kansas. We get to ask each other questions, laugh together, learn what the world outside of our classrooms looks like, and explore the different ways we can work with our kids each day. It has been an amazing experience. Getting together, talking about what they do, learning from one another, and exploring ways we can continue to stay connected even after our tours are over has been a gift. These are amazing teachers and people: why wouldn't we want to stay in touch and continue to draw on one another to become better at what we do?  Without the KTOY program, I probably would not have met these exemplary people. I am truly blessed to have this opportunity to become part of this circle, to be able to build my Profession Learning Network. Everyone should have this chance.

On the way home from Council Grove after our last tour, I commented to Jenn Keller, our elementary KTOY nominee and fellow Semi-Finalist, about a fact that struck me during this process. I coach football as well. Actually, the way I look at it, I have the pleasure of having multiple classrooms where I get to teach: Room 202 upstairs at BHS, the weightroom on the north end, and the practice and game fields where our boys play. Something is different though. As coaches, the PLN, while not called that, has been the basis for success and growth for ages. Coaches have been developing and building PLNs as a natural process and never think twice about it. Coaches seek out one another. If Bo Black runs a no back, no huddle system before everyone else in Kansas does, then Coach Warner makes a trip to Great Bend after we move to Buhler and they discuss how they do it, and more importantly, what might stop it. Coaches in Wichita mention how their LBs read the zone, and Coach Warner and I drive down to NW Wichita after school one day and talk football for three hours. Wisconsin runs the power play to perfection in the Rose Bowl, or Kansas State abuses defenses with run-pass options, so we get on the phone and set up ways to pick the coaches' brains about what they do in their programs.  Coaches talk, and if more than three are in a room for more than 12 minutes, a dry erase board is going to turn into what might look like a modern art piece as plays are drawn upon plays and defensive counters are diagramed out and adjustments are made.

And yet, a recent attempt to draw teachers from neighboring districts together in an effort to share, learn, and support one another was met with everything from skepticism to outright rejection. That is frustrating.

The desire to share and be a part of a bigger community of positive thinkers and innovators is present in all great professionals. Teachers are no different. In 2016, we have incredible opportunities to do just that. It is literally at our fingertips.  We can connect, not only with those teachers in our districts, but throughout the state, across the country, and beyond all borders. Thanks to some of my colleagues, I have been thrown into the community pool of Twitter Chats, Voxer, and the like. And, I can honestly say, "Come on in. The water is fine."

Thanks to these tools, I have, at my fingertips, the ability to not only share my thoughts, but to tap into the gifted minds of thousands of educators who have different experiences, varying resources, altered viewpoints, and extraordinary imaginations. Sometimes, this simply allows me to renew and recharge. I have selected three Twitter Chats that send up smoke signals for what is becoming my professional tribe (outside my hallway, building and district, which are still a source of terrific pride and energy. I am blessed to teach in Buhler): #leadupchat, #ecet2, and #ksedchat. Each one has its place, and I was drawn into each one by different people. One Monday, I was having a truly Monday Monday. I was grumbling, I was dark, and I was frustrated. I did not even intend to take part in the #ksedchat discussion that evening. However, at 8 pm, I opened up my tweetdeck, and took a glance or two at the feed over the next 10 minutes or so.  Soon, I was reading about how Ts (Teachers for those saving their 140 characters) engaged reluctant students. The ideas were flying, and commitment was clear. A couple struck a nerve with me, and I read more closely. Then I was engaged. At 9, I was disappointed it was over. I felt so much better. I could actually breath easier. My jaw was relaxed. And I began planning anew for the week.

Our district has been discussing how we can use Twitter Chats to help teachers develop and grow. The question was posed: Do Twitter Chats really offer anything more than a chance to toot our own horns? That is a legitimate questions. Twitter is, after all, SOCIAL media. What real good can come from it?

The answer is simple. Growth. Several weeks ago, I commented on a picture that Greg Froese (@Froese89) had taken while his seniors read poetry outside on the football field. The irony of the Thoreau-esque activity taking place on artificial turf was not lost. Shortly after, Suzanne Rogers, an AP English teacher from Arkansas had commented on the photo and asked if I had seen how "Thoreau" the rapper Macklemore had gone on his last album. She sent me a link to a video. BOOM. Lesson on Romanticism that will relate to my students today (after I edited 2 words from the video). Last week, I connected with a teacher who will be speaking a two ComiCons and a national social studies conventions on the topic using comics to teach history (and many other things). I had shared that we use "Walking Dead Mondays" in my English classes to help draw in students who might not otherwise be interested in plot development or character motivation. The discussion was during an #ecet2 edchat about engaging boys in the classroom. How am I, a lowly teacher in central Kansas, going to exchange ideas in an immediate fashion with a creative teacher who will be speaking to multitudes at the nation's largest ComiCon in San Diego? Guess what? I am doing it regularly now when I see the lessons he is teaching posted on Twitter.  Just this Saturday, I saw a comment on my Twitterfeed about distict Twitter Chats. I replied to the poster. Her response? "DM me, and we will chat." So I did, and we did. In between stops at garage sales, she enlightened me about the process she and her district has explored in using this tool to help their teachers and district grow. We can use this expertise in our own journey. The teacher, Ms. Denko, teaches 3rd grade in New Jersey. We might have crossed paths at some point without Twitter, but the odds are slim. I don't get to Jersey much.

Great, you might say, for you English teacher nerds. But wait. There's more. I recently set up Coach Warner's Tweetdeck. I had found this little Twitter Chat called #MeshPoint, which focuses on option football. That's right: we can even geek out about football plays.

It goes beyond Twitter Chats. This week, Dr. Randy Watson, the Kansas Commissioner of Education, spoke to me. In his voice. Ok, he was speaking to many of us, but he spoke to us. I was added to a group on Voxer that is pulling together Awesome Teachers from across Kansas. Dr. Watson has replied and even liked a couple of my comments on #ksedchat. He is a regular participant. He doesn't have to be, but he is. That means something to me, as he is a part of a positive and energetic town hall meeting of educators from across Kansas, not once a year or leading up to some election, but nearly every week. We have several Voxer groups in our district at this point, each one with a particular aim, from team communication to student celebration. It is just beginning to take off.

This is an exciting time in education. It is so easy to read the headlines and grow jaded and frustrated with how our state's leadership seems to be trying to tear us down. However, we owe it to our kids to keep growing, and in turn, help them to do the same. We do not need to wait for the district to approve the funds (which are being held up in Topeka) to send a group to some conference. We do not have to wait for a PD day speaker to lift us up and energize us with new ideas. Those activities have their place and are valuable. But we have so much at our disposal. We just need to tap into them. The PLN is out there, waiting for each and every one of us to "contribute our verse."

The Powerful "Why Not?"

I have a slight problem. Not quite an addiction, but quite possibly a compulsion. On Twitter or Facebook, or even in everyday life, if someone quotes a movie line, I feel the nearly irresistible urge to follow up with the next line. If Rob Hedrick, a friend who lived across the hall at Baker, posts "You will report to the stables tonight and every night at precisely 1900 hours" I feel obligated to follow up with "And without that pledge pin!" If Lacy Pitts tweets, "Was it over when the Germans bombed Pearl Harbor?" it is my obligation to reply, "Germans? Forget it. He's rolling." Oh, and, unfortunately, I have recited, word for word, "I, state your name..."

In short, I am "that guy".

However, not all is lost. Something good has come from this. To quote Bluto in response to the question "Pinto? Why Pinto?":

"Why Not?"

That short, explosive line has become somewhat of a battle cry.  It has allowed me to take some risks, and it has given me the freedom to step outside of the proverbial box. It has become a mindset, at times. 

I am blessed to work with some incredibly talented people. Steve Warner is a top-notch as they come on the football field, and I have had the good fortune of working with him for 12 years and counting. Several years ago, we had a tough football player that we needed to get on the field. He was not one of our top linebackers, and he was only about 160 pound soaked in the mud he carried with him from the field at Topeka Hayden. I remember commenting to Coach Warner and Kevin Ruda, our defensive line coach, that I wished we could put the kid, named Austin Ortiz, down on the defensive line, just because he was so tough. Their response? "Why not?" So, a 160 pound, tough, wiry kid lined up across from 260 offensive linemen, and he beat them. He recovered two fumbles against Hayden in our playoff victory on their field. He won all-league and all-state honors. Why? Why Not? The next year we decided to look for another player to fill that bill. Austin's brother, Levi Boman, a 2nd-team all-league free safety the year before, slid into a three-point stance. Why? Why not? First Team All-league and all-state honors. State semifinals. In the 2013 season? Scott Whitson, a 165 pound wrestler who had lined up at corner up to that point, wreaked havoc on offenses from the 2 tech position and helped raise a State Championship trophy. Why? Why not?

The talent pool of teachers I call colleagues is even deeper than just talented coaches. In the ELA hallway, I have an amazing mix of creative and passionate teammates from which to steal ideas on a daily basis. This afternoon, Greg Froese and I were discussing the "Gimme 5 Challenge" he was completing, which asked for two of his greatest accomplishments this year. He was including the Ideal Human Prototype lesson and our Sonnet Throwdown. I value the opportunity to collaborate with Greg on a daily basis. Greg makes me a better teacher, in part because he supports my "Why not?" addiction. A few months ago, Greg talked to me about this Ideal Human Prototype idea he was developing, and I loved it. I told him I was game to use it in my senior English class too. Why not? I came down a few days later with an idea that had come to me in the truck that morning and asked Greg what he thought about applying the IHP idea to Sweet 16 March Madness bracket of literary figures. His response: "Why not?" So we did. The depth of the conversations and the passion of the arguments as Atticus and Batman, Katniss and Han Solo battled through the brackets was impressive and exhilarating. When I told my classes as they worked on team rotational sonnet writing that Mr. Froese's classes had challenged them to see which class was more talented (they actually hadn't, but my classes responded as I had hoped), and my students took up the challenge, Greg and I collectively asked "Why not?" Thus, the Sonnet Throwdown was born. At this moment, the final rankings are in a sealed envelope held by Price-Waterhouse, and the trophy will be awarded at the BHS Has Talent Show on April 20. Even the trophy was basically a response to "could you somehow create a trophy?" One "why not", some collaboration with the ag-mech teacher, some time on the plasma cutter, and application of the talent of Josh Potter later, our trophy was complete.

This afternoon, I was visiting with Janea Gray, our Media/Tech Specialist. She had come to my room this morning with some ideas for "Poem in Your Pocket Day" next week. We tossed out an idea of a Hit and Run Poetry Slam in the LMC on Thursday. My honors sophomores seemed interested. Mr. Knapp thought his juniors could jump in. So, when we weighed whether we should try to make the idea into reality, Janea and I came to one conclusion: why not? If it tanked, all we were out was a little time and the effort it would take me to move back a couch or two. I am excited to see how it goes. It should be a blast. Why wouldn't I be excited? 

Why not?

Why wouldn't I try something new?

Why wouldn't I try to go a full week without complaining?

Why wouldn't I take part in a new Twitterchat?

Why wouldn't I choose to be positive if I possibly can?

Why wouldn't I sign up for EdCamp?

Why wouldn't I try to be a better, happier, more effective teacher?

"Why not?" indeed.

"The whistle of a boat..."

Lost

BY CARL SANDBURG

Desolate and lone

All night long on the lake

Where fog trails and mist creeps,

The whistle of a boat

Calls and cries unendingly,

Like some lost child

In tears and trouble

Hunting the harbor's breast

And the harbor's eyes.

The poem above one of my favorite by Carl Sandburg. How this verse came to introduce this post might be somewhat rambling, but I am going to go with it This is how my mind works: I read an article shared by a colleague on Twitter about the importance of teaching emotion as part of literature study. More on that later. The post made me think of some "emotional moments" in my classes that were particularly meaningful, and sometime painful. The day a young lady burst into tears as we read The Road, a visceral reaction so honest and sincere that she could not control it. The days when leave the lights down for a few moments after the last scene and lines of "To This Day", partly to let the kids mentally swirl the experience before we come together as group, but partly to allow the kids, male and female, to wipe away tears and sniffles that invariably well up during the poem's presentation. It also reminded me of the day this year our son discussed the ending of Of Mice and Men, revealing to his Dad that he had "gotten choked, and kind of cried a little." So, I sat down to compose this post, and as I pondered a title, the line from the poem above, "Like some lost child/In tears and trouble..." came to mind. 

Short story long, the post on emotions in literature study has me thinking. At a recent conference, we discussed particular talking points regarding how Kansas education can move forward in ways that are best for our kids. It was a lively and thoughtful discussion. One point prompted the question "Why do we need to teach four years of English at the HS level?" Two talking points later, we dove into social and emotional growth of our students. I interjected that this is one answer to the previous question. One of the only places that we can address the emotional growth of our students in a variety of ways that are meaningful and safe for those kids is in the study of literature. When Piggy dies and it hurts one student so deeply that she has to leave the room, as happened in the classroom of the author of the above mentioned article, it is a teachable moment vital to that child and the other children in that room, possibly more vital than any other lesson. A student of mine reflected a couple of years ago that studying the spoken poem "To This Day" by Shane Koyczan was more powerful than all of the anti-bullying assemblies she had attended since entering grade school combined, and I realized that sometimes, literature and the conversations it raises are the only place a kid can safely face their demons, or perhaps even the demons of others.  You see, this young lady was not touched because she could relate to the boy in the poem who was bullied or the figurative circus freaks who played solitaire spin the bottle. She reflected that she was a bully, but had never considered, truly, what she was doing. She didn't shove kids into lockers or steal lunch money. She joked, she made fun, she laughed at the little things she saw about other people. It's what she did. For the first time, she could see the other side. In the dimmed room, as the lines of the poem tumbled to her ears, something made sense. 

Every time I read the lines that Sandburg penned decades ago, probably with no image of high school students anywhere in the misty fog of his poetic thoughts, I think of certain kids. So many of our kids send out that whistle that "calls and cries unendingly" as they navigate the fog and mist of their lives. Sometimes, it rolls on the heavy fog of the classroom in the form of nervous laughter or frustrated grumbling. Sometimes, the lonely whistle strings together in tunes that they scratch out on notebook pages or poetic blog posts, or lines of graphite or paint that fill sketchbooks or canvases. Sometimes it is the voice of the kid who lashes out from the back of the room, or the silence of the one who refuses to, seemingly more content to sit with hood up and eyes down than interact with anyone around him. The whistles blow in all pitches and tones, and, unfortunately, sometimes, we do not hear them, or, just as unfortunately, we hear them, but fail to recognize that they are not simply idle and meaningless humming but, instead, are calls for help by the lost and wandering, the pleas and cries of those seeking shelter and warm protect of some harbor, any harbor, as they float on, hoping against hope that they will not crash upon the rocks they know are out there waiting. 

So, we read and write and study and discuss. We do so because, as my students might say, it gives us the feels. And that is a good thing. To quote Three Days Grace "I would rather feel pain than nothing at all." And, if we can feel that pain within a safe harbor, where we can toss one another a towrope, where we can sew together some sort of life jacket to be donned later in life after they have left our harbor, then it will have been worthwhile.