Passion Post: FOOD!

Individuals blog for a variety of reasons. When we ask our students to blog, we attempt to give them some sort of direction so they will not spend countless hours muttering "I don't know what to write about". At the same time, we try to allow enough freedom for the students to stretch a little and dive deeper into topics of their choosing.  As with any activity, some students seem energized by blogging and the opportunity to express themselves and hash out ideas in a more modern forum and medium, while other trudge through it with grimaces and groans. This is fine. Not everyone is going to enjoy writing, although I would like to make it a little more worthwhile and rewarding for them. What I do not understand is how a person can complain about having to write a "Passion Blog" which is essentially the opportunity to write about what excites you, what lights your fire, what makes your heart beat, or what makes you think.

This post will be one of MY passion posts. I am passionate about many things. My relationships with my family. My teaching, both in the classroom and on the field. Literature of many forms. Exercise.

This post is about something I have a passion form which has brought me a great deal of pleasure as well as no small amount of frustration. What is this passion, you ask? I have an undeniable passion for food.

I love food. Entire days at the State Fair have been scheduled as to allow optimal food variety and consumption without causing the potential gastrointestinal discomfort that can come from a lack of planning in such matters. Trips to Wichita, Lawrence, and Kansas City have required carefully attention to detail so that we can enjoy the fare at specific restaurants during limited time. I jump to The Food Channel as often as I click over to ESPN, and I have watched "Diners, Drive-ins, and Dives" marathons on more than one occasion. I bothers me that "Good Eats" is no longer on, and I prefer "Cutthroat Kitchen" to "The Voice".

I realized recently that the only Snapchats I have sent to the limited number of friends who I have in the social circle have included shots of food I was grilling, frying, roasting, or broiling. I always said I would not be one of those people who tweets his supper at a restaurant or posts dessert on Facebook. However, snaps do not seem to bother me. I have also discovered that such snaps torture young men who do not have such delicacies at their disposal, so it has become more acceptable to send a perfectly seared pork loin or pan of bacon-wrapped peppers through cyberspace.

My passion for food goes beyond just eating, although that is an activity that I do truly enjoy.  I really enjoy cooking. I do not consider myself a "foodie", really, because I am not that sophisticated. My knife skills are primitive. I chop stuff. Or slice it. I an not sure what a proper jullienne cut is, and I had to look up exactly how to spell it correctly. I have no idea what saffron tastes like, or what dish I would use it in.

What I do know is that if you apply high heat to red meat, a chemical process occurs that alters the molecular structure of the meat, and the result is an incredible flavor that cannot be achieved in any other way. I know that if you roast garlic inside a cavity in a beef roast, it will mellow and sweeten as it imparts its flavor into the meat. I know that put tomatoes that you pick from your own garden in a weird pan with holes in it, and you place that pan on a barbecue grill, those tomatoes will caramelize, and if you blend those tomatoes together and simmer them over low heat, the sauce will evolve into something special. I took my cooking lessons from Mom, Dad, Nana, Grandma, and Huck Finn. Huck talked about how he liked stew, how the bits and pieces cooked together, each one lending its own flavor to the pot, until the mixture was much better than the bits and pieces that were dumped into the pot separately. Twain was saying many things through Huck, and I have to agree with most of them.

I am not a chef, and I will never impress anyone on a judging panel of some cooking competition show. But I know what I like, and I know that my wife and kids seldom hesitate to eat what ends up on our table. Unfortunately, I seldom fail to consume my share of what I cook either. Or seconds of most of it, most times. I like eating, and I like eating the food I cook. That is a good thing, but as with everything, too much of a good thing is no longer a good thing. I am working to stop before I take seconds. It does not work very often, but I am trying. Passion is a terrific, terrifying thing. It makes life not only worth living, but worth enjoying. It can be dangerous if uncontrolled, but it can be so valuable when directed and harnessed.

So, there is my passion post for the day. And in closing, I offer you my latest SnapStory. I made chili in between breaking down film on Saturday. I apologize for the typo. I was not wearing my glasses and did not reread it close enough. I hope you enjoy.

Reluctant Heroes and The Walking Dead (CRR)

Beowulf stood before the king of the Danes in Herot and boasted of his prowess. He slew beasts in the murky depths, dispatched trolls and she-wolves, and bathed in the blood of the enemies who foolishly challenged the Geats. Who would not want to follow such a hero into battle, whether it be against a devilish descendent of Cane or an opposing army? This is a man who knows what he wants, knows he is a hero, and will not hesitate to lay his heroic qualifications on the table.

Sir Gawain, in innocent modesty, requested from his King the honor of taking up the challenge issued by a magical knight of greenish hue. He expressed how undeserving he was to take the place of the king in stepping in so heroically, but he knew that it was his place. He was a knight, and he had his seat at the Round Table. He might blush and feign modesty, but he realized his heroic stature, and he took up the mantle with no hesitation, much to the chagrin of the older, more establish knights who sat in astonishment. And then he followed through.  He was a hero.

These are the traditional, the classic heroes of our literary history, figures that serve as examples of how we expect our leaders and our heroes to behave, not only on the page, but on the battlefield, on the political stage, in the boardroom, and in the athletic field.  However, not all heroes as so willing to stand up and snatch the mantle of heroism so boldly. Some are reluctant or even stubbornly resistant.

One week from today, The Walking Dead premieres its new season. As the audience anxiously gears up for the return of Daryl, Beth, Michonne, Rick, and Maggie, the question of who must lead this little band of survivors as they navigate the desolation of the zombie apocalypse? Some of you who are fans of the series are already shouting, "But what about Carl and Glenn? They are returning too!" Let's face it though, Glenn has become a bit of a whiny pain in the tuckess since he found love, and he does not have the "it" factor that leaders have, even though he wishes he did. Maggie has it, and I think that may be the issue for Glenn. He wants to be the protector her father thought he could be when he gave them his blessing, and he is doing his best to fill that role. He is just not a leader of men. And Carl? Let's just say that every episode that Carl evades the teeth of a walker and instead talks trash on a sleeping father or pigs out on a gallon of chocolate pudding, thousands of viewers are disappointed.

What is the world does this have to do with Beowulf and Sir Gawain? Heroes. Those two literary heroes were confident and willing, bold and anxious. That is the classic hero. However, literature, and life, often turns to a different type of hero, one burdened with reluctance. The reluctant hero.

The two main characters who seem to be presented as hero in the journey of The Walking Dead are Rick and Daryl. Maggie may prove, in the end, to be a true leader, but she has not developed fully in that direction. Michonne is an enforcer, a sergeant at arms, loyal and willing to do the dirty work, but she is not a leader. Hershel is dead. He is out. Rick and Daryl. Heroes?

Rick was presented in the early episodes of the series as the obvious hero. He was hero before the world turned dark, literally turned dark for him as he spent the period of plunge that the world experienced in a coma. He was a sheriff deputy, and took a bullet in that role. When he joined the group in the woods after awakening and weaving his way out of an urban jungle of the undead, they immediately looked to the badge and the hat to lead them to safety. Well, everyone except Shane did, but the whole taking his best friend's wife as his own and then learning he had potentially fathered a child who would possibly call Rick "Dad" made that a difficult situation. For a time, Rick seemed to desire that role of hero. Then, when things got truly difficult, Rick backed away. He hung up his gun, and he deserted his post as hero. It was someone else's turn. Michonne, Hershel, Glenn, anyone could pick of the banner, and he did not care who, as long as it was not him. Carol tried to be heroic, and Rick banished her, for she had done what he could not do, and what he had decided he could not stop her from doing. He now wants to be a hero again, for his annoying son, who has vacillated between bratty prepubescent  to rebel without a clue to innocent child. I am sorry Rick, bailing on the hero role at a critical time makes you much less heroic, no matter how much you embrace the role later.

So, that leaves us with Daryl. By Daryl's own admission, he was nothing before the fall of the civilized world. He was the brother of criminal methhead who was raised to be nothing but a drain on society. However, as Beth told him before they torched the shack that represented his past and her desire to give up, it does not matter what he was before; it is what he is now that matters, and that is all that matters. A hero.

Daryl may not be a leader of men, but he is a hero. He does not want to be because by being heroic, he becomes more than he ever thought he was destined to become, something more than a drain on whatever society provided the fringe that "his kind" hung on to. Despite his reluctance, however, he had to be a hero. He puts others before himself. Not the way Rick tries to do, but in a truly sincere, unselfish way. From the first time the redneck biker pulled on the leather vest adorned with a guardian angel's wings, he was the hero of the group, no matter how far away from that distinction he attempted to ride. He rode for supplies when that is what they needed, not because baby formula would keep his daughter alive, but because it would keep someone else's little one alive. He searched for a lost girl, not because doing so would earn him favor or make his life easier, but because she was all another human being had left to live for, and he had to do what he could. He took a seat on the leadership counsel, not because he wanted to lead, but because he knew that counsel would have to make difficult decisions, decisions Rick would not be strong enough to make, and he was the guy who could tell it like it was, and everyone would know the reasons were sound and true.

Even taking Beth to swig her first buzz-inducing taste of moonshine was somewhat heroic. She needed to go through some relatively normal rite of passage in a world where nothing normal seemed to exist. He allowed her to do that in a protected environment. At the same time, he needed to allow her into his sphere, to let her inside his circle, where she could trust him and he could allow her to do do that. He needed a moment of vulnerability, even though he could not admit it to anyone, which would allow him to deal with the guilt he had placed upon himself. That's what heroes do. They put the pressure to be heroes on themselves, even when is unfair to do so, and then they find a way to be a hero. Sometimes heroes need a hug. And to burn stuff. And then flip it off. In doing so, he accepted the fact that he was more in the world than he was ever expected to be, and that he could flip the bird at his loser self from that time so long ago. It did not matter what he was before. It only mattered what he had become. And he had become a hero.

Daryl is a literary hero, and his heroes journey is progressing. Our literary heroes serve as examples to those of us who live in the more mundane realities that we call our real world. Daryl, no matter how reluctantly, is such an example, just as Beowulf and Gawain before him.

 There are some truly horribly written and acted television shows and movies. However, when someone gets it right, it is as powerful as what Hemingway, Dickens, Shakespeare, and Twain put to the page. Good literature, no matter what the medium, is neat.

My Weekend Made, or "I Proudly Steal Stuff"

Tonight, I worked my way through the first blog entries of my honors sophomore students. Some were truly interesting, and others were enlightening. A few were space fillers, as the authors attempted to find their footing and get back into the swing of school, into the habit of writing on a regular basis. I gave them a bit of a break this time. I know the feeling, but developing the habit of writing is like any other habit. To write well, one must write well, and do so on a regular basis. It reminds me of the wise words of one Jerry Marsh, a man who taught me many valuable lessons, inside and outside of the classroom. One summer during strength and conditioning, we talked about how some athletes saw squats as the key to increasing their speed. We squatted, and it does have a huge effect on explosiveness, power, and speed. However, some athletes were using squats and other lifts as replacements for work on the track or running hills. Mr. Marsh shared a little nugget with me that is so simple it is profound: "To run fast, you have to run fast." It is true. Writing is the same way. To write well one must write, and write well.

So I have a little empathy for the young people who are now embarking on the odyssey of writing a weekly blog. Most started this process last year with Mr. Bauer, and I have borrowed his activity and carried it on this year with those same students. We upped the word expectations (to the chagrin of the students in my classes), and I eliminated their "freebie week" which allowed them to skip a week and not post a blog. I told them that as freshmen, that week was appropriate, but as they have matured, the expectations have as well. They are a bright group, and they will get into the swing. I look forward to reading the offerings, as they will allow me to get yet another view into the minds and hearts of my students.  I know that some of you are questioning the wisdom of actually trying to peer into the mind of a sophomore, but I need the excitement such an endeavor offers.

So, the students began, or reinitiated the blogging process after four months off. One student has already posted her second entry, and I found myself energized and smiling after reading it. I won't identify her by name, but she is presenting herself as a bright and insightful young person. She selected her reaction to one of our class assignments as the topic for her second blog. Last week, we read a short story that played upon the themes of rites of passage. I was discussing the story with a colleague, fellow teacher and blogger Samantha Neill, and she was quite passionate about the fact that this story allows us to "do something more" regarding personal principles and personal beliefs. Because I am a teacher and want to do the best for my students, I will steal just about any idea, make it somewhat my own, and use it in my classes. Mrs. Neill brought up the Personal Code that is an important part of our senior curriculum. We wondered if there was some way to "sophomorize" that concept and use it in our classes. I love the idea of introducing some of the important reflective writing that our seniors do, such as the personal metaphor and personal code, at lower levels and then reaching back to them once the kids reach their senior year. It allows them to see how much they have grown as people and examine their writing and thinking in a more mature light.

So, honors sophomores were asked to write belief statements in several areas of their lives, and to then write a single action step for each of those beliefs statements. Finally, they combined the two statements in each area into one sentence, displaying the link between the belief and the action that must be taken to fulfill or display that belief. Many students found the assignment extremely difficult. I told them that this might be the case, and that I welcomed that. It it was a struggle, it meant they were actually thinking about the statement, and that could be difficult. The blogger of which I spoke made my weekend.  Below is a small section from her post:

"I liked this assignment a lot because I got to know myself better. I thought about my beliefs, and wrote them down on paper. This makes me more liable to pay attention to my thoughts, words, and actions, so that they correspond to my beliefs. If I had to summarize the point of the assignment, I would say that it was to help us figure out who we want to be, and how we plan to get there."

This young lady did a fairly good job of summarizing one of the objective of our assignment. She went on to state that putting her beliefs down does not mean they may not change in 2, 5, or 10  years, but they are the beliefs that she has now, and that she must consider her actions and whether or not they correspond to those beliefs. She also stated that the assignment was difficult because of what it asked the students to do, and that that is what made it a rewarding activity.

Why did this make my weekend? She was thinking, she was writing, she was writing about her thinking, she was thinking about her writing, and she was writing about the thinking she had done about the writing. That is neat. When a lesson actually works, and a student "gets it" and goes beyond, it is a special feeling. I tell my students that so much of what we do in class is not academic. It is not about the classroom and grades. It is about life. Thinking is a major part of that, or at least it should be.

So, thank you Andrew Bauer, Samantha Neill, and John Knapp for the ideas, which I unashamedly admit to stealing. Shoot, I steal from Greg Froese, Kiley Porter, Laurian Williams, Holly Kimble, Clay Manes, Jerry Marsh, Vicki Jewell, and many others as well. I have not yet boldly stolen from my Neighbor Amber, but I plan to do so. I am confident that many an idea will worm its way through my classroom "wall" and inspire me.

And on that happy note, I leave you. I have a class of blogs yet to read. I am looking forward to it. These kids are neat.

*I linked blogs of several of my friends and colleagues in the text above. Read them.

Why? (CR)

Last Friday, I gave my students a chance to ask me a question. It was the second day of school, and I had taken the introduction and orientation on the first day. I thought it was only right at that point to give the students an opportunity to dig a little deeper if they chose to do so, and in the directions that they felt would be interesting. I was surprised how few questions actually were scrawled on the board. There were the expected, such as the seniors who wrote, "What about Senior Projects?" That was practical, and we discussed the general plan for the Buhler tradition that has developed into a year-long quest through research and exploration. There were the slightly brave, such as the youth who messily penned the query "What happened to your finger?" I always look for that courageous soul who is willing to risk it so early in the year. I broke out the classic tale of a young derelict severing his digit during a botched pilfering of split-level home. It was neat. During one class period, however, a single word appeared on the board, and those three letters could quite possibly sum up the essence of meaningful education.

The question written on the board?

"Why?" 

No qualifier. No elaboration. No specifics. Simply "Why?"

This three letter word made my day. "Why" is my favorite question, if I have to choose just one question as my favorite.  History, or at least legend, tells us that Socrates based his methods of teach the youth of ancient Greece on "why". Even Bill and Ted were able to grasp the significance of that. In fact, "why" was so powerful, it led to Socrates being labeled a source of corruption and a threat to the establishment. It leads to contemplation and to exploration. It moves the mind.

I truly love when students begin to ask that question as they read, and it has led to amazing discussions and rabbit trails. Knowing that Juliet seemed to fall in love with the rival youth Romeo is simple. However, asking why she was so quick to fall in love with the young man, shortly after telling her mother and her nurse that marriage was an "honor not dreamed of",  leads to greater consideration. Mulling that question over and then offering possibly explanations can reveal much about the student responding as well. If a student immediately recognizes the fact that Juliet sees an example of passionless marriage in the union of her parents, and goes further to see Juliet's possible motivation for a quick twirl into wedded bliss as evidence that she wants to find a mate who lights the fires of passion within her, as opposed to the cold, business-like arrangement of her parents and the potential union to the much older Paris, that student is displaying a grasp of the world a bit more mature than the traditional freshman, as well as an insight into how some households do not live up to the Norman Rockwell image we have been led to believe exists in most American homes.  Pondering "Why?" in regards to the darkness found in Poe's twisted writings leads to an examination of a  tortured life, a life that some of our students can relate to, and perhaps find solace in the fact that another soul experienced hardship and turned to the pen in order to exorcise those demons. Peering deeper into the "why" behind the treatment the older brother inflicts upon an adoring Doodle in "The Scarlet Ibis" can reveal not only a student's understanding of the brother dynamic in a family but also the tenuous nature of love.

"Why" is a powerful tool. I have touched on but a sliver of the light that the word can shed on our reading, our thoughts, and our world. We were told at the beginning of the year to find our "Why" in regards to teaching.  One of the kids later in the day asked that question too. I won't get into that topic just yet; that discussion deserves its own space. I wrote earlier on the "why" behind writing. I will probably revisit that at some point as well. Those are both good whys to look at more closely from time to time.  Why? Well, that is the question, is it not?

Go Away, or I Shall Blog You a Second Time..."

Just a few random ramblings on a Sunday night, as I try to wind down from preparation for Mulvane, our week 2 opponent. I find that a difficult task, especially on Sundays such as this. I even typed up my lesson plans in Buhlerdocs, using full sentences and everything, as opposed to the usual cryptic code that outlines my purposes and approaches for the week.

Here it goes...

Losing is not a pleasurable experience.

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Sometimes, my children frighten me. Not in freaky Children of the Corn way, but in a good way. This evening, when I returned home from meetings, my wife told me that while our son was "helping" her make cookies (which consisted of agreeing to help her, and then telling her he would just to everything himself), Dylan used the word counterintuitive. In conversation, In a sentence, Without hesitation. Correctly. 

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Sometimes, I frighten myself, and not for the good reasons like my elevated vocabulary or startling self-awareness. No, sometimes the verbal excrement that spills from my mouth is ridiculous. It seems that at certain times, for no apparent reason, I channel the voice of a 12-year old boy from the 1980s. I realized that when my response to Dylan's question "What's up with the brownies?" was an immediate "What's up with your face?" Seriously? Was "Your mom's a brownie" too mature for the situation? I will admit, with undeniable shame, that those moments happen far to often for an individual of my age, education, and supposed intelligence. 

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If you place a group of three or four educated men in a room with three or four educated women and turn on Monty Python's Quest for the Holy Grail, most of the men will soon begin spouting lines from the film, often at times minutes or even hours away in the actual showing of the film, and most of the women will chuckle and spend the majority of the movie glancing at the men with a look somewhere between mild befuddlement and complete distain. Or they will enjoy themselves by laughing at how a group of grown men can find political satire and clomping coconuts equally humorous. "Must be the King..."

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I know this is short, but I must end now. You're welcome.

I will be posting as regularly as possible in the near future, as I have told my honors sophomores that I too will be held to the every Wednesday due date for our weekly blogs. I have a feeling they will call me out if I fail to meet my commitment. It would be horrible to fail my own class. 

And that's all I have to say about that.

Shakespeare, Dead Poets, Eminem, SOA, and TWD.

A writer for whom I hold a particular fondness made an interesting allusion in a work that I recently looked at a little more closely. He alludes to the American folktale of Rumpelstiltskin. The allusion made me think a bit, about the concept of turning nothing into something, of spinning straw into gold. Many people would immediately disregard the thought, not because it was ineffectively presented, but because it was made by a rapper named Marshall Mathers, aka Eminem. That is a shame. I am an unapologetic fan of genuinely meaningful rap music, or meaningful music of nearly any genre, and I would go as far as to say that Eminem's skill at word play and double entendre is on par with none other than Big Willie himself. (That is William Shakespeare for those who did not make the connection.) The man is a storyteller and wordsmith, but simply because he chose a colloquial art form, his skill is discounted by many as unworthy of even cursory consideration. (Yes, I am talking to you, Kim.) Please understand, however, that I do not feel every line scribbled by Mathers is literary gold. Far from it. Some of his work is garbage. He has said so himself. Some of the puns are a bit, well, vulgar, but colorful nonetheless. Guess what? Some of Shakespeare's verse is less-than-Shakespearean in quality too. (That statement could be a discussion in itself, couldn't it?) We cannot disregard the entire Folio because a few lines are crude, awkward, somewhat poorly crafted, or obscene.

I use a lesson in class titled "Shakespeare is Hip-Hop". The speaker, Akala, is a young MC in London. In the video I use in the lesson, he is speaking to a group of scholars and gives them an informal quiz in which the audience members are asked to identify specific lines as having been penned by the Bard or by a modern rapper. It is surprising how difficult it is identify the source of the literarily crafted ideas when the lines expressing those ideas are all that is presented, free from music or stage.

I feel this illustrates that sometimes understanding, or perhaps the weight we give that understanding, is influenced greatly by preconceptions based on the assumed value of the source or presenter.  This fact leads us to give more credence to an expression of an idea by one source than we grant to another, regardless of the validity of the idea itself. For example, in a famous scene from the film Dead Poets Society, the character of John Keating, brought to life by the recently passed Robin Williams, the purpose of language is explained, simply and concisely: to woo women.

I love the film, and I love this scene, among many others. I have yet to argue that this concept, this idea of why we attempt to use language masterfully, is in any way vulgar or disgusting. Take another example that boils down the idea in much the same way, but that has not yet been adopted at a motivational tool in English classrooms, although it might be more effective with adolescent males: 

"I met a girl at a party and she started to flirt.

I told her some rhymes and she pulled up her skirt." (Horovitz, et al)

Ok, it may not be Shakespeare or Fitzgerald, but is the sentiment not the same as the one presented by the character of Mr. Keating, the one that produced knowing nods and chuckles from audiences? Why is the same reverence not paid to the lines from none other than The Beastie Boys? Ok, this example is a bit extreme, and it is clear that the idea is expressed much more appropriately for a classroom setting or academic discussion. However, I believe this is a prime opportunity to teach our young people about register and diction. Don't just toss it away without consideration. Instead, could we not examine if the expression is effective, and when such an expression might actually be appropriate and when it might not be. In other words, as the kids say, "Valid idea or nah?"

I am in no way saying that source or context should not affect how we read or how we examine what we read. On the contrary; I believe the source and therefore the context of a piece must influence our approach and response to a work. Read a little, just a little bit plucked from the middle, of "Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God" by Jonathan Edwards. Now, pull a bit, just little snippet  plucked from the middle, from a venom-filled spouting from a member of the Westboro Baptist Church. Taken out of context and in limited extent, these two bits may seem to parallel one another. It might be difficult to appreciate the language and sentiment expressed in Edward's sermon if taken out of the whole and without considering who wrote it and when. It would also be extremely unfair. 

However, we should not immediately discount any idea or thought simply because it is uttered in a particular context by a certain individual. We have to examine the idea, and that examination should allow one to disregard the idea on its own merit.

Let's take this in another direction. One of my favorite television shows is Sons of Anarchy. I am also a fan of The Living Dead.  It would be extremely easy for an individual to off-handedly disregard either of these shows as mindless viewing that holds little or no value. One is on FX for Pete's sake! Sons is about a motorcycle club in California. What, besides explosions, violence, and sex does that show have to offer? TLD is in the zombie genre, based off of a graphic novel, which is just a fancy name for a comic book, right? So many strikes against that one as a worthwhile use of time, unless you want to be braindead. 

Yep, I did that.

To immediately toss away those offerings as worthless on a literary level simply because of the genre, producers, or network is not only unfair, it is a wasted learning opportunity. Sons follows a distinct Shakespearean arc, drawing inspiration from Hamlet and MacBeth. Literary allusions and symbolism abound. As part of one storyline, a character is dealing with a crisis of identity and loyalty. As the character grabs a chain from the bed of his truck and moves through the shadows, a song began to play in the background. The song, low and morose, caused me to jolt my chair. "Strange Fruit" is a poem, or a song, about the bodies of black men, lynched and burned, swinging from the branches of polar trees. A sense of dread knotted my gut as Juice, the character, threw the chain over a branch. He had never known who his father was until a sheriff handed him a folder containing the damning information that his father was in fact African-American. The club had never had a black member, and Juice could never live with out the club. Learning and then hiding his origins violated a loyalty code to the club, despite the fact that he was completely unaware of such on infraction, and would devastate him and shake the club. I will not ruin the ending of the episode for you, but that scene is evidence of the depth of the show's writing and production.  The lead writer of the show, Kurt Sutter, was also a major writer for a show titled The Shield. I loved that show too. The protagonist of that series was a classic tragic hero. He struggled with a tragic flaw, and that flaw would lead to his inevitable downfall, an end which he could never escape. 

The Living Dead is a classic tale of the hero's journey, with examples of archetype after archetype. The show is not even really about zombies. It is about survival, interdependence, love, humanity, and growth as human beings. Zombies are just the backdrop that allows the story to be told. A number of quality discussions have sprung from the question, "Did you see The Walking Dead  last night?" Kids amaze me with the depth of examination they will undertake with a character, and then transfer that examination to the literature that we are studying at the time. It is neat.

We must remember that there is a flip side to all of this. Just as we must never blindly disregard offerings without proper examination, we should also not immediately accept an offering as top quality and indisputable because of where or who it comes from.  

Unless you are reading something I have written, of course. Then, one should accept every word as gospel truth and assume that each and every tidbit could stand alone as a golden nugget of greatness. 

Horovitz, Adam, Adam Yauch, and Mike D. New Style. Beastie Boys. Rick Rubin and Mike D, 1986. CD.

Positive World Chagers

We officially started school, or at least preparations for school, this week. (Now, now, all of you who have been in school for two weeks and are screaming at me because our students do not start for another week and a half, don't hate the player; hate the game.) We have been discussing on our vision, our desire to help our students become positive world changers. I am excited for the year. Football is in full swing as we near the end of the first week of two-a-days, and despite the heat, our young men have been pushing themselves, sweating, bleeding; they have impressed me with their efforts and their attitudes as we begin the quest to defend the title. On the field and inside the yet unfinished schoolhouse walls, I am blessed to work with some truly fine people, both students and colleagues. Let me repeat: I am blessed.

Positive World Changers. That may seem like a lofty goal. "Just get them readin' and writin' and figurin' right, and that will be enough," some might say. I say you are short-changing our young people if you take that approach. Positive World Changers. When we begin discussing that goal, that vision, we can hold up many fine young people who have taken their experiences at BHS and begun to make an impact on the world. Students who have aided charities in creating educational opportunities and clean water sources in Nepal or who have traveled to Central America to build homes for those in need. These are terrific examples, but I sat here last night and wondered if they were the best examples. I do not want to in any way diminish the extraordinary things those individuals and group achieve; they are amazing and should be celebrated. However, I was pleased to hear a colleague mention today that we need to celebrate those young people who change the world one person, one smile, one encouraging word at a time. Those who impact and influence those around them, those who lead those with wide eyes to be just like them. When I think of positive world changers, I think of those special young men and women who change the world in their way, in the way that best fits them. So many kids have passed through our walls who have made and will continue making those positive world changes.

There is a young man currently completing his training to become a paramedic. My brother is in the profession, and he knows about this young man because of me and because he has watched enough Crusader football to recognize some of the players I talk about. He asks about him when he speaks to the man in charge where this man is training, and he is doing well. While I hope to never see him in his professional role, I can honestly say that if I need emergency assistance, I want his face to be the one I see, or that my family sees. He will be amazing, partly because of his intelligence and dedication, more because of his character and caring. He is a family man, and was long before he met the girl he will marry and begin his own family. He is a positive world changer.

There is a young women who impressed me on a daily basis as she grew up from a freshman to a senior and now beyond. Do you know what she did to change the world, top change my world and the worlds of so many of her classmates? She was herself. She was a genuinely happy and sincere young lady who looked at a person when they spoke, unless that person was speaking about her, at which point she would look down, embarrassed to hear someone compliment her. She smiled as much as possible, and her bright outlook was contagious. She once called a bus driver at home one evening because she was concerned about him after there had been an accident in which a teen driver ran into the back of the bus. She helped students in class when they struggled, not to show she was bright, but because she wanted those around her to succeed. Humble, caring, and sincere, combined with intelligent, thoughtful, and compassionate can be a powerful mix. She was and will continue to be a positive world changer.

Sometimes it is even smaller, or seemingly so. Once, a student in my class was struggling emotionally, as sometimes tends to happen. She was supposed to present to my class upon returning from lunch, but as she stood up, she was unable to contain her tears.Something had happened in the cafeteria, and it had hit her quite hard.  She left the room, with me a few steps behind. I walked back into the classroom a moment later, and she followed shortly after. Before anyone could speak, a girl from the back of the room boldly said, "Hey, I would really rather go first if I could Mr. Kohls, if she doesn't mind. That would be better for me" As she stood up, she continued, "There a seat at my table if you want to sit here." She then walked to the podium. She changed the world that day in less than 15 seconds. It may not have been a global action, but in that little world that is my classroom, she changed our world by being an example and a light. She was trying to change the world, but she was a positive world changer.

I could keep going with example after example. This year, I am sure I will will be amazed again by the people I am blessed to work with. I only hope I can live up to my end of the bargain to help give them a truly exceptional educational experience, to give them everything I can to aid them as they go from our little world into the wider one, that big, scary one, and do their thing. I am ready to go.

Let's change the world.