Language as a Weapon...the Political Spin & the Skewing of "Entitlements"

Remember the harried call for "the moral majority?" How about the clarion for "family values?" Or how Spiro Agnew called the left "effete, intellectual snobs?" The tone of the rhetoric of the right for nearly 2 decades was to accuse the left of violating the values of the American Family.

I have been asking a question for a few months now: why is it not "family values" to expect and support a citizenry that is

• Nourished;
• Housed;
• Healthy;
• Educated;
• Employed and able to earn a viable living; and/or
• Protected in their elder years?

Why is asking that our citizens can expect that which was promised for the entire Baby Boom now the tool of politicians who are spending millions, and eventually billions, of dollars to be elected? Why is the language so skewed and that bias is to demonize Americans for desiring, expecting, and striving for the American Dream? I just do not understand.

Language is a tool...a weapon...a volatile premise. I often ask high school students to tell me names of famous people who have changed the world through the effective use of language. Their list is comprehensive. I believe that I blogged some responses in previous posts. They also understand that there are negative changes that have been wrought through effective language and skilled speech writers and orators.

We have a field of politicians waging verbal war and not addressing the very pressing issues of the day. One that really bugs me is the notion of "entitlements." The implication from the Right is that Americans are asking for something they do not deserve rather than being given title to the funds that they have deposited into the system since they first started working. And the press seizes that word and supports its usage from all sides of the fences. Just as the media supported the sanitized term "ethnic cleansing." Every election and every administration delivers at least one term, one word or phrase that then becomes the lexicon through media enforcement. Remember "weapons of mass destruction" that started with Clinton and ran rampant in the Bush years. How about "embolden?" When was the last time you used that word before it coming from the White House press room during the Iraq war that has helped bankrupt our nation? How about "Not on my watch?" These are now commonalities because the White House, at some point in time, spoke them and the media seized the moment and tattooed them into the public consciousness. How about "maverick?" And the bold claim of the "Silent Majority?"

Language is precious and beautiful. Language is brutal and damning. It is both a weapon and a tool, and it is a way to "embolden" as well as enslave.

Our nation is in a weakened state. We must be ever conscious of the tone and scope of our words. And we must regain our own legitimate self-respect and power as a society. I am not sure how. It seems insurmountable. But I know that the current rhetoric is not going to do it. I know that the bullying of the right and the left of each other will not accomplish it. Breaking the unions, vilifying teachers, attacking those who work in public services, and defunding the many valuable programs that have made the quality of life in our nation what it has been until very recently (and is currently highly threatened by "reform") will not achieve it.

I also know that being silent will be the worst option.

Reclaiming Self after Slipping through the Cracks

Last Friday, just one week ago, over a great looooong lunch at Sparkytown in my hometown with a new colleague/friend, Yvonne Murphy, I made a life-changing decision. I am going to finish my B.A.

I declare this publicly so I cannot back out.

I have been declaring it all week to friends and colleagues. I want this decision to be a part of my body consciousness and I want to move beyond the roadblock I have negotiated my entire adult life.

I recognize and own that I have also accepted and even created the roadblock. Other times I have contemplated returning to college and getting the degree and it has usually been lack of funds that I have allowed to stop me. It was partially that factor that caused me to leave school in the first place. But now, 3 weeks before I turn 58 (just 2 years shy of 60!), with the loss of my major contract and no solid work ahead (or so it seems this morning), unable to even place my hat in the ring for many jobs I know in which I could be fully effective due to this perceived deficit, I can no longer avoid this completion.

I have written before of why I am so committed to my students and to the work in schools, especially the disenfranchised, the overlooked, the undervalued and insecure; I am them. Care to see who some of those young people may be as adults...here I am. And honestly, it is so easy for educators, psychologists, sociologists, politicians, etc., to focus on the youth of color as the ones who are slipping through and away. So much of the discussion is focused on urban education and urban life as the cauldron of neglect. In fact, it is often. I overstand the plight of poverty and how it is statistically weighted in the Black citizenry of our nation, and fully recognize the struggles of Latino/Hispanic Americans as well. I must also point out that we rarely even see indigenous people represented on any PowerPoint pie chart of the poor and disenfranchised.  But that also becomes a marginalization and stereotype that people can use to keep their assumptions about people of color intact, to perpetuate the stereotypes, as well as continue to allow many others to be faceless and failing.

It is so easy to identify "these kids" as single-parent children, or children whose parents are negligent, abusive, drug users or drunks as well as other than White. Yet, some of those same traits also occur in cul-de-sacs of McMansions. Another consideration: there are caring parents who are poor as well. Sure, the incidents of broken homes and suffering families may be skewed toward people living in poverty but I see these same conditions in rural school districts of predominantly White students, as well as parents who are anything but present regarding their children in suburbia. I actually believe that most children are at risk in America. Look at the divorce rate. Look at the spread of addiction and substance abuse across all socio-economic strata. Look at the decimation of our system of education and the conversation in America today on the floors of Congress, at town hall meetings, and on the news squawks.

Teachers are often the first line of defense for a child in need. But then, can we place all that responsibility on them? And are they always able to manage recognizing the signs? Teachers did not see that I was a solitary child, that I felt completely outside of my peers, that I had tremendous responsibility for my siblings, and after my mother died, all that was magnified significantly. Guidance counselors and adults did not see that I was in a desperate depression. College professors did not see I was at risk for dropping out and barely hanging on. I fit an image of smart young White kid and I acted well for adults.

After I left school, with no emotional support from key adults, such as both my fathers, I slammed through life like a pinball. I have a multitude of jobs in my history and a long list of attempts at alternate careers, often stymied by my lack of a diploma. Ironically, most people now who know my work or collaborate with me assume I have graduate level degrees. I am a graduate of the school of learn it as you go and learn it well to compete. But I lose out too often. I have made a series of poor choices. Other times I have just been stopped for other reasons and family matters that took precedent in my forward movement.

In the meantime, I have also accomplished a long list of amazing feats. I need to be more focused on that tally than what I have not achieved or where I believe I have failed. I find I am not always my best judge.

Now is the time for me to accept that I am my own obstacle in the lack of degree. A diploma is not an assessment of my worth. It is just a way to qualify my knowledge, talent, and skill for the system in which we operate. It is a necessary prop in a society and a generation that has lost a value for self-education and skilled trades. It causes me great concern when I hear all this national conversation about the press for college. But that is a topic for another post, I imagine.

I was frightened off from meeting this accomplishment over and over for the past four decades. Now is the time to stop believing that I am not worthy, that it is too hard, that there is no money for me to do it. I have $150 to deposit in my checking account today...all the money I have. I stripped out my very modest IRA to pay bills this summer. I somehow made the mortgage payment and last month's car payment last week. I can pay another bill that will stop one of the incessant phone calls from a creditor or another with this check. 

I am teaching a couple of courses and I have a small part-time job. I am hoping for another opportunity for employment. Next week I present with my collaborator and creative partner at the Preemptive Education Conference in NYC, then on to workshop with students who will be working in New Haven Schools and offer a reading of our poetry at the University of New Haven. We will sell some books as well.

Then I will come home, make arrangements for my transcripts from three different colleges, if they can find them in the vaults, and sit down to chart my course to my college diploma. That meeting should probably happen just around the time of my birthday. I can't imagine a better gift to myself. 

And, I will continue my work...and continue recognizing myself in the faces of the young Black man in the back row, the freckle-faced girl huddled near the window, the Mexican 4th grader who loves to write and cannot stop, the boy who sings all the time and thinks no one will ever like him, the child in every desk, the teen behind every hip posture, the faces of those who just need to know that there are adults who believe that they are marvelous just because they are alive.

Today I Wear My Poet Hat

There is a lot of pressure when self-employed. The scramble for work, the constant follow-up, the volunteerism, the press to market and generate income, the bills and deadlines are enough to make for constant anxiety. Sometimes even panic.

My poetry is taking second chair to all the other needs at this time. I am getting a little itchy but other priorities are leaving four cycles of poems dormant in my binder. But I am one to take my time with a poem anyway. I described it today as "worrying a poem to the bone." I am not satisfied with the first draft; in fact, I am rarely satisfied with the tenth draft. I am one of those poets for whom the act of honing, revising, dallying with the image and language is a joy as well as a vital obligation.

As an editor for many years, I read hundreds of submissions annually. Now I am making the final decisions for a poetry journal. This is rather daunting. I know what it feels like to get the "not this time" letter in the mail so I have empathy for the human on the other side of the SASE.

As an artist educator and workshop facilitator, I witness how difficult it is for someone to translate one's own experience and emotion to the page, and then to take the step to place that work in front of a reader, much less to throw it into the arena of publishing and, thus, critical judgment.

There is so much space between the moment a person commits their humanness to the page and the competition for pages in a journal. Editors have to consider that there is a tender spot in each writer's heart that yielded the poem we are screening, critiquing, accepting, or sending back.

On the other hand, the poet has to remember how many people are out there, sitting at their computer or over their notepads, pen in hand, creating something significant to themselves. They have to reflect on how many poets are taking their five poems of the moment and placing them in the mail for consideration. The competition is keen. We can never underestimate the sheer numbers.

So often, I feel that poems we consider for publication are a few steps short of their own capacity. This is disconcerting. The push to publish sometimes blinds a poet. The delight in creating a poem may often veil our eyes from the opportunities to shift the poem from competent, or even good, to marvelous. So will the desire to see our names and verse in print.

I continue to ask, "What is the rush?!" Certainly the contest and reading period deadlines are motivators but why not sit with the poem a little longer and notice that a word has been repeated three or four times, with no true purpose to the repetition. Or notice that the whole first stanza is not only editorializing and telling the reader what the poem to follow is about, but that it is burying a spectacular line that would open the work up with true panache, and thereby engaging the reader immediately in the experience rather than narrating it? Or perhaps the poet can take the time to proofread the submission and avoid the sloppy typos that shed a callous light on their professionalism? There will always be another reading period or contest. In fact, the plethora of such is diminishing the whole and making the whole business entirely too confusing.

Now I will say that I am honored to be in a national community of poets and to serve them with my efforts, as are my colleagues who work together diligently to publish our journal. I admire the commitment of our entire staff, all of whom (including me) are volunteers. 

I also want to say that often I contact a poet whose poem is so close to stellar to suggest edits that will take it to its fullest potential, based on comments as the poem circulates through our ranks. The poets are always gracious and the usual comment is, "Wow, thanks. I did not even notice that."

But that not noticing is another problem. We are charged with the responsibility to notice by our nature and post as Poet. If we do not give the poem ample attention to observe the blemishes and missed opportunities, we are failing the poem, the potential audience, and ourselves. Every syllable should count. Every syllable should earn its way into the piece. And every syllable should sing.

We also have to remember that we are limited thematically by the essence of human nature and the human condition. Although we may be feeling the excruciating pain of a parent with a critical disease, the heartbreak of loss or abuse, the joy of a newborn child, the bliss of a bird in flight, so are thousands of other people who may be poets as well. We are motivated by our own pains and pleasures to create art. But we then are well advised to step away from the creation emotionally and take a good hard look from the points of craft and uniqueness. How have we described that circumstance or individual in ways that make our own voice and vision unlike any other?

This is the finer element of making a poem and making it our own. It is also the key to more publication. Lastly, it is the path to fullness and satisfaction as a writer and creative being.

Many Talents to Admire...Always Something to Learn

A few posts before this, I spoke of my two young nephews. They constantly amaze me, just as their older cousins always have. Their older cousins are now adults with blossoming professional careers, one a few hours away, another on the other side of the country. I have so many reasons to be proud of these humans of the next generation of my family. I want every opportunity to spend time with any of them.

This past weekend, my 9-year old nephew spent the weekend with me while his parents traveled for a wedding. We had a great time in this last morsel of summer. He has a love of artistic things, not the least of which, drawing. We spent all day Saturday on my back deck, making bookmarks for family and friends, and he drew incessantly. We made cookies. He schooled me regarding the best selections of Nick On Demand. We never did get the WII working with my old-school television.

Meanwhile, my 12-year old nephew was a few miles away, helping his mom in a remarkable way; he was replacing a broken garbage disposal! He has a natural talent for mechanical things. I would never know where to start with something like that but there he was, under the sink, wrench in hand, helping my sister-in-law puzzle through a plumbing dilemma. She was so proud of his ability to parse out the task as they partnered to take control of this critical home repair. I have the text photo to document his skill!

My younger nephew is chatty like me. His cousin is quiet and introspective. I find I am quieter when I am with him than I would be on my own. With his cousin, I join in the blow-by-blow narration of the day. These boys each have strengths and assets that I admire. They also both "get" me, in their own ways. I "get" them as well. They show me what their generation is experiencing and they remind me that an authentic life is all any of us should aspire to live.

They both also remind me that humor is a balm.

This weekend, on the 10th anniversary of 9/11, they reminded me to stay present. They reflect purpose and joy. They help me be more of the woman I am, and without even knowing it, they fuel the poet in me, as well as the educator.

My youngest nephew and I headed to the zoo on Sunday, leaving the TV coverage of the sadness behind; he is unburdened by any of those painful memories. He was in charge of the camera. We stopped to admire a cherry red 60's vintage Chevy Impala. We stood on the edge of the parking lot high above the skyline of Syracuse, observing it like a panoramic photo. We made jokes and engaged in some clever word play. This guy has a great vocabulary, I have discovered.

As we walked toward the entrance, my boy queried, "Aunt Georgia, is your whole life a poem?"

I stopped for one step, started walking again, and quietly replied, with a smile in my tone, "Why yes, now that you ask; I guess my whole life is a poem. Thanks for noticing."

Writing Is Writing Is Writing

I shall be frank. It has been a tough summer. Nearly all the work I projected did not manifest. Budget travesties in the current climate of education and in the face of a horrid economy have meant that, once again, the rug has been pulled out from under me. I am running on fumes and prayers to get through while work is very slowly presenting itself over the next few months. The career of an independent teacher educator is not for the faint of heart.

In the face of all of this, I facilitated other poets/writers throughout the summer, both in the two workshops I taught and in the work I do as managing editor of the Comstock Review. I also wrote a great deal, although not much poetry. But I have been journaling quite regularly and extensively, keeping my gratitude journal nearly daily, and working on my accomplishment journal. I have committed seriously to this blog as well. I have posted twice as much this year thus far as either of the two previous since I started this journey in cyberspace. My readership has grown and I hope I have be of service in sharing my experiences and reflections. 

I am quite accustomed to the quiet times when my poems hibernate. I have been enjoying the freedom of prose with the counterbalance that blogland boundaries create. I am examining the world through a different lens when I write for this page; however, I am actively writing, consistently reaching out, communicating with the world, expressing my joys, frustrations, and sometimes even righteous indignation.

In 5 weeks, I will turn 58. It is crazy and a bit terrifying. I am feeling a remarkable urgency to get the words in my head and heart onto the page and before people to whom they carry meaning and message. I hope that the muses take me back to verse soon but until then, I have my keyboard and my three journals to help me fulfill my destiny and purpose as writer. I sincerely hope I have plenty of time to exhaust the language I carry with me, to make some sort of difference.

Still Another Teachable Moment

I have two young nephews, the youngest of my siblings' children. In the hustle of my life as a teaching artist, and many months spent on the road with this career, I often miss important events in their lives: school plays, sports activities, even their birthdays. In addition, since so often I am waiting for payment, or am faced with the current challenges of the economy, they suffer not just the lack of time we can spend together but maybe even the things that we would do together that I cannot afford. I regret these obstacles and they do not deserve to reap the consequences. I lost time with my older neices and nephew and now that they are all grown, I want to make sure I am present and active with these two, to get it right, and to be a source of support and affirmation, a person with whom discovery and laughter are constant elements.

A few weeks ago, with the summer vacation waning, the three of us were in the car headed for a hike at a wonderful place south of Syracuse called Tinkers Falls. One of my nephews, the 12-year old, had been there with me once already but his 9-year old cousin had not. This would allow the one boy to show the other what he had discovered and be a bit of a mentor.

The discussion of the looming school year, the list of summer activities left to do, the roller coasters that were yet to be conquered, was primary on our drive. I posed the question: "What if you could go to school for an extra hour each day but you could have a longer summer vacation? Would you do that?"

There was a quiet moment of contemplation, probably during which they each listened to an inner dialog that likely runs, "Oh no, there Aunt Georgia goes again with another crazy idea."

Additionally, I proposed that the extra hour per day could be designated for electives, enrichment, extra study time, or intra-murals, etc. This didn't sound so bad to any of us all of a sudden.

I suggested that we figure it out. I pulled out my driving log and the pen I keep in the pocket of my car door and handed it to my older nephew. "Let's do the math...multiply 180 days of school by 6 hours." I marveled at the weird way he computed the total. I admit I am clueless about the ways math is taught to children now and I would never be much help with homework. But he came up with 1,080, the total of instruction hours they now experience.

So then we agreed that they would lose 20 days of school if there were a month more of summer free time. So the next step was to multiply 160 theoretical school days times 7 hours of instruction. Once we had a sum, it turns out that there would be 1,120 hours of school plus an extra month to do summer stuff. That sounded pretty good to all of us. Who could we talk to? Could we ever get this idea across to people who make decisions? We figured it would be unlikely.

We talked a lot more on our 30-minute drive, mostly about what the 9-year old might find when we got to the falls. 

While I walked the path, and the boys walked the nearly dry creek bed, taunting frogs and finding fossils, their pockets grew burdened with more and more weight. They know I love to collect rocks so a lot of these were gifts for me. But we also had to embrace another teachable moment: once you start finding rocks you like, you find even more. And once you start picking them up, you had to carry them. They grew heavier. The best lesson: some of them you leave behind and rely upon the memory of discovery.

I cherish each one of these memories because some day these two gems of my life will be adults. My goal is that they will be sitting with friends, talking about being kids, laughing as they share stories, and they will say to group, "Let me tell you about my crazy Aunt Georgia..."

Treasures throughout the House

Awhile back, I posted about the treasures and gifts that students give to me when I am in residence in schools. I am completely delighted when a young person makes me something, even the smallest note or drawing, and I keep every one. I have several file folders in my cabinet but I also have them on my desk, tucked into my journal, framed on my wall.

Often with student art, I am able to decode the image and respond appropriately with a compliment or a question. Every so often, I am stumped. In winter 2010, I was in residence in a small rural town in southern New York, working with 6th graders. One boy, a very outgoing kid and very invested in the poetry projects we were investigating, came into class the last day with an paper mache art project in hand and a bit of a scowl. I offered my compliment on his sculpture and he grumbled that he did not like it. I asked "Why?! It is a great cat." Oh my...wrong! He declared, "See?! It's not a cat; it's supposed to be a wolf."

Darn...I messed up by not letting him tell me first. I never did manage to master paper mache and I have never successfully created a realistic sculpture in any art project I have ever attempted so I fully empathized with his disappointment. But I complimented the work anyway. In turn, he asked me if I wanted to keep it. I said I would be delighted, no matter what manner of animal it was.

I got the piece home and adjusted to life with my virtual pet. My own cat had just died so I was somewhat comforted with this little being. And the pseudo cat became my project for a few weeks. I moved him around the house, as did my friend Brian, and we took pictures of the still cat in live cat poses. First, the kitchen:

Soon the cat moved to the living room to check the weather report on television:

He proved to be a scamp and an acrobat as the holiday decorations were being put away:

 

My virtual pet finally settled into a semi-permanent perch on my dictionary in the dining room. Humorous as it is that I keep a dictionary on a lectern in my house, why not?! I am poet with a penchant for word games. I find it both appropriate and practical.

As for the cat, his original owner starts 8th grade this week and is likely a foot taller than the last time I saw him. The cat, well, he serves great purpose as he minds my words and hopefully wards off the wolf at the door.

Does Everyone have TBD?

Ellen DeGeneres is not only a remarkably funny comedian and celebrity, she is also a brilliant writer. I have made it my habit in the course I teach to college honors students to screen Ellen's last stand-up performance that was broadcast on HBO, Here and Now. I like to ask my students to slow down and observe the ordinary, the everyday elements of life. The whole course is based on what a concept I learned from Eric Booth, a method of observation he refers to as reading the world. Ellen fits right into my syllabus.

Along her journey from first premise to last line, Ellen spins a seemingly unraveled thread of humor that always leads us over the hills and curves of her narrative, holding our stomachs to cushion the grip of laughter. She gifts us with the satisfying conclusion of her observations, reflections on our humanness and humor. Ellen impresses us through a mastery of language. She leads us skillfully. Then, she draws near the end of her hour, always stunningly funny. Her convoluted story comes full circle.  It is close to miracle. I marvel each time I watch either of her stage shows. They are poetry and dance.

Ellen uses the literal nature of language as her diving board. She has a remarkable delivery, brilliant with an aside. As she performs, she pays homage to the storyteller comedians of the 1960s. The tones I notice most are Bob Newhart, Bill Cosby, Moms Mabley, George Carlin, and Lily Tomlin. I also hear Totie Fields, Godfrey Cambridge, Joan Rivers, Robert Klein, Alan King, Flip Wilson, and Phyllis Diller. The story must be equal to the punch line but one cannot suffer for the other.

One curve through Here and Now invites us to recognize the newest societal dis-ease: Too Busy Disorder or TBD.

I self-diagnosed the first time I watched the show and now I have to periodically remember to monitor my TBD. I am trying to remember to take the time to take action in ways aside from utilizing the technology available to me. I am trying to remember to read a book just to read - for pure pleasure or curiosity, much less to read all the research and career building material I have piled around me. I have to also remember that reading is a part of my work, not something to try to fit into the daily planner. I cannot be too busy to read. It is kind of like breathing but sometimes I find myself holding my air without even noticing.

I started making my own cards and notepaper with the stamp collection I have developed. I receive a creative satisfaction each time I sit to design some new cards. They are always limited editions. It is satisfying to select the card from my collection that suits the recipient and occasion, then hand write the note with one of my fountain pens, usually purple or turquoise ink. To prepare and mail a card is such a simple act.

This past school year, I sent thank you cards to the principals of the schools I teach in year after year. My residency season in the district was scheduled during the annual budget meetings and I was fully aware of the challenge that the superintendent was facing, along with his Board of Education and entire district staff. I understand what it takes for a principal and a whole school to welcome me to do my work. Many individuals go out of their way to support my success in classrooms. I also know what it takes from the principal's budget. I am honored when administrators make that choice. There are many programs and resources that they could choose to afford their students and teachers but there are principals who invest in my work, my approach, the pedagogy I hope to share. I am grateful.

It is not any easier a time for our school administrators than our teachers. I generally ask for an appointment to speak with them personally. I don't need long, perhaps a 10-minute meeting just to share what my teaching focus for this visit, which classes seem to be responding well, share new resources that I may have brought for the teachers, a short conversation to inform the principal about what I have developed for the school, based on what we have done years past and are now adding to that foundation.  Time to be humans together, both interested in the best for the school. Keeping it short suits their calendars and the TBD they probably have developed over the years.

I should have prefaced that I do not have a "package," which is sometimes difficult in trying to get bookings, to communicate what I can actually offer. I have been in schools at all grade levels long enough now that I do have some processes and activities that I know work, but they will always be tailored to the school's climate and curriculum. Each year I return to a particular school, I add something new, a twist, to what I modeled previously or I find a new approach to the curriculum. It is a creative form of design. It is like making a thank you card. Like making a poem. I can't be too busy for that.

On the Flip Side...There Is Joy...

Love love love my kids this year. I nearly always do, but this could prove to be an exceptional group, and an exceptional year for my school. I do hope you can visit. It’s unlike any other school I’ve seen, let alone taught in. Very interesting slice of our district. Poverty and ethnicities. We have a 30-something teacher at 6th grade this year who is a graduate of our school. If you can make it out of the ingrained poverty in that neighborhood, it’s cause for major celebration. Our school psychologist came from Mexico at 5 or 6, enrolled at this school knowing no English, lived in a converted garage with a dirt floor, went on to get her degrees at the region's State College and is thrilled to be back at at her home school. Her parents are illiterate. She says, “We always come back,” which is interesting to me cuz my fiance went to this school, and when his kids were school age, he moved back to the hood and they are going to his school, too. And he works there, doing yard duty at lunch.

1st Grade Teacher, 23 years of certified public education

After my recent post regarding this year's rigorous test scheduling in one friend's 2nd grade class, I received an email from another good friend, also an elementary school teacher in another small to mid-sized urban center in another part of the country. Geography and demographic may vary but the fact that the school year has begun points to commonalities for our schools and the communities they represent. I wanted to share this side of the coin.

Teachers are fiercely dedicated to their work. They have to be to do it well. And they are best at it if they love children/young people. Teachers work in varied settings, schools made in the 1920s of brick, schools built in warm climates with lockers outside in open breezeways, schools in small rooms on native soil, and cinderblock walls of detention centers, or someone's dining room. Teachers will teach wherever they must and with whatever they are afforded. They understand and respect the critical need as well as the miracle that is learning.

Teaching artists, those of us in the fine arts who choose to share our craft and our complusive drive to create in community settings where learning is happening, to help make learning happen,  we harbor a dual passion: the need to express ourselves artistically and the desire to teach what we know about and how we experience the world. We know our art forms can communicate concepts, processes, knowledge of all themes and subjects, in ways that support the standard pedagogy of our nation's classrooms. The holistic education that arts-based learning accents builds more than data regurgitators. The creative space to ponder and experiment in movement, form, color, language, and thought strengthens a different muscle mass.

We also know that our commitment to education does not diminish our identities as artists. In most cases, I argue that the sharing and the creative problem-solving, the critical thinking and asethetic approach to developing lessons and curriculum, the constant inquiry from students actually enhances our craft. The adage is true: teach what you want to learn.

Teachers greet their school year knowing that they have many odds to overcome but the success of their students is the primary objective and they will do whatever they must to support that success. They will advocate for the learners before them. They will withstand all of the obstacles, even if they can see a way that negates the need for the obstacle. They deserve their salaries, they deserve the resources it takes to teach our children well. But our political climate is fostering a tone that spins those expectations so that they seem to be asking for too much. The devaluation of the American citizenry is becoming more and more obvious in the Monopoly game strategy of our current legislators. Teachers are the front line of this battle and they fight for themselves and the right to a safe, productive workplace. They also fight for families. They fight to insure the future that, Monday through Friday, is walking off the bus, being dropped off by an SUV, or walking neighborhood streets to the front doors of America's schools. It doesn't matter public or private, charter or home school, rural or urban. School is often the place where our children discover and develop their own capacity for learning or it is squelched.

I teach in two school districts that employ many teachers who have returned to the schools they attended, a connection similar to the lineage detailed in the opening quote. I also teach periodically in the district from which I not only graduated after completing all 12 grades but the district that first fostered me as a young writer.

Teaching artists live day by day often, patching together a quilt of jobs to make it through, all in the hopes of creating more time for making art. It is still another chicken vs. the confusing egg koan of modern life. We are often vulnerable in this economy and current tone of politics. We understand why teachers need unions. We too stand as an element of society that is on the front line for funding, respect, and recognition of our value.

We also understand why a teacher is gleeful when a child is empowered by his own achievement. It is not about the product, but the wonder, as my dear friend and role model, Richard Lewis (Touchstone Center for Children), has shown in his many years of working with young people. The end product of the good grade or a piece of art, to take home is a wonderful affirmation. There is no denying that. But what first makes a person choose to teach, select a career in education in any form, and then to consider returning to the school they attended? It can only be that it was safe, it was nurturing, it created a space for wonder, achievement, community, a home.

Our educators create all that and more. My many teacher friends illustrate this all the time. Teachers protect, observe, and advocate for those in our society who have little choice in what direction their own lives may be driven yet must adapt, our youth. My teaching artist friends are driven by the same fuel. My friends who teach are passionately committed and that is why they speak what they witness. This is why I reflect what they speak to you. I share the passion. I recognize the joy. 

Digging Yellow Dock Is Always A Potent Metaphor

Saturday morning, fairly early and definitely quiet. I am bearing witness to the slow waking of my neighborhood, the first weekend the students are back. Classes start Monday. The tone has changed. Still, over the trill of crickets and songbirds' breakfast chatter, a church bell sounds in the distance, signal that morning mass is over. The miracle has happened once again. The sun is gentle and crisp.

In the past week, I have been systematically addressing the 2 years of overgrowth in my garden. I have to be gentle with my back so I have to limit my time but, if I am consistent, I can make good progress. I always identified with the tortoise when I was a kid.

Since we have also had consistent rain this week, coupled with the end of season pacing that allows the roots to flex their muscles less, the soil is perfect for disruption.

I have to decide how I want to redefine the form and texture of this garden, now that the sister maples are gone. The stump mulch I convinced the arborists to leave behind has been fully incorporated into my garden and the neighbor's yard. There is a topography now to play with, as well as new planting options since there is so much more light. I can return to my interplay with rocks. I know there are some that are ready to be off the ground, ready cause confusion and marvel with their acrobatics as they balance in musical ways. 

I dig weeds best when I am working through some new level of healing or awareness. This has been another summer of facing zero income and redefining my work plan. It is the summer of my 40th high school reunion, a significant milestone. It is the summer of my recommitment, after considerable review, to the work, the learning, the journey of my identity as both poet and educator.

There are so many ways I can express all of the ideas that swirl through my brain, much like Hurricane Irene this morning, slapping the east coast with her outrage. Somewhere I find the eye of the frenzy as I dislodge the deepest tap of the dock root or chicory. Fear is exorcised and everything becomes clear  for a few moments. I ignore the incessant ringing of the phone inside the house, bill collectors and those who anticipate I am available. I am working. I am not obliged to answer quite yet. I am writing and I am strengthening, readying for the next phase of both my life and my sometimes awkward career path. 

I do this work because I want to share all the ways I am excited about language and communication. I love the making of poems. I love the ways people know each other and themselves better through the many masks poetry may wear in connecting with human understanding. How they discover and thrive in their own creation or comprehension. I find tremendous satisfaction in sharing this art that I adore, this way of engaging in life.

I love music. I like poems for that reason too. 

I am creating a patchwork quilt of work to sustain me, hoping I get through and build a stability once again. I am becoming more and more vigilant in my reaching out to readers and advocates.  There is work and I will find it. Or the people who will benefit from my perspective and my approach to learning and writing will find me. There is purpose in what I do, what Quraysh and I have created in our dialogue that became our book.

One of the unanticipated lessons in writing Our Difficult Sunlight has been discovering that I like to write prose. It is why I am offering more through the blog as well. I am a writer. This forum has become a consistent part of my practice. 

The other day, someone asked me how I had time to write if I am blogging regularly. I responded that this is writing. I also realized that I am just taking some time away from poetry. I value the quiet times. Like Saturday morning in the yard. A time for review and redefinition. A time for the fluster of a flock of powdery brown little budgies chasing to the far side of the street to perch on the church railing.

Besides, when the air smells like ice cubes melting on a countertop and the bird commentary echoes The View, I can retreat from the deadlines, the proposal concepts, snippets of poems, agendas, calendars, and urgent communication, the marketing plan, the storm in my brain. I can stop typing now to watch the daddylonglegs stroll the bind weed that has adopted my front railing. I can write. It is my passion, my entertainment, my art, my mission, it is my work. It is my identity. 

I have dug very deep to attain that knowledge. I vow again: Onward. As directed one New Year's by my dear friend Phil, Proceed and be bold. 

I can return to my pitchfork and weed weasel, as I am about to do.

I trust the work will come. I have many irons in the fire. I have been creating options and choices. Each time I have reached a roadblock, I have regrouped and charted an alternate course. I hope I am right. I would like to not struggle so much but that may be contrary to the dharma anyway, so I dig deep, loosen the tangle of overgrowth, listen to the devas as they help me design the planned community of my front garden, how the wind chime choruses their recommendations. It is all part of the revision process, the eternal thumb puzzle that is my life (to quote my friend Brian).

School Daze...School Daze...

Thank you for your continued understanding and support.  Latest idiocy from the district - we are going to be giving up over a month of critical ELA instruction to test the kids.  There will be 7 unit tests - including giving the end-of-the-year test the 2nd week of school, as well as at the end of the year.  Then there are computer tests 3 times a year.  Then there are dibels testing 3 times a year.  Then there is prep for the state test, and finally 3 days of state tests themselves.   As I've said before, it's like my continuous diets.  Let's just keep on getting on the scale, but don't change eating habits at all.

God help us all!

The quote above is from an email from a colleague who teaches 2nd grade in advance of this new school year in a mid-sized urban school district. This teacher is closing in on retirement eligibility within the next couple of years. This teacher reflects the plight of teachers all over the country, teachers who have dedicated their lives to educating our children. Passionate teachers who are now facing retirement have seen countless reform initiatives and never have those initiatives stood in the way of the care teachers have for children. But the current state of education is definitely impeding teacher passion for their work because of the unreasonable and often unfounded choices they must comply with any given school year.

I have seen fabulous teachers planning their exit strategy who fully know not only how to teach but how to properly and thoroughly assess the learning evident in their students. It is not because they are lousy teachers or they do not love kids. It is because the business of education is as broken as much of the rest of our system in this nation. It is because of the dehumanizing of the national climate of education. It may be that the media and the current wave of reformers are placing the greatest weight of the failures of our schools on the shoulders of teachers. 

In a recent conversation on Book TV's program Afterwords, between Diane Ravitch and Steven Brill, Brill cites a teacher in New York City barking at students as he shouts inane questions at his students, feet up on his desk. I find it very difficult to believe that this was a firsthand observation, rather than a reflection of someone else's story. I cannot imagine any teacher being so lax while being observed by outsiders.

This rant in the nation about the impact of bad teachers is a filmy argument. There are inept practitioners in any field and they are always the minority. The current demonization of both the unions, Randi Weingarten (president of the American Teachers Union) in particular, and teachers in general offends my intelligence.

I have seen Michelle Rhee and members of the press gang up on Ms. Weingarten over and over in panel discussions. It seems the charter school reformists are the newest teacher's pets of Washington. I hear Ms. Weingarten stating over and over that teachers should be evaluated, as should students, but the playing field has to be equal and teachers need to be afforded all the needs and resources possible to insure their success, much less provided a healthy and vital workplace. This includes validation as to their own level of expertise. This includes a viable income. It includes quality and consistent professional development.

But it also includes access to the supplies necessary to serve the students well. This playing field must allow for students to be well-nourished, rested, clothed appropriately for their climates, and to have support in dealing with and healing from outside influences that impact learning. Few of these new reformists seem to be even the least bit willing to address this issue, much less our legislators.

On the other hand, reformer Geoffrey Canada proposed that the best teachers be recruited for and retained in poverty-ridden schools by offering considerable signing bonuses and significantly higher salaries. His logic was that the less able teachers would be less of an obstacle in districts where the income supported higher school taxes, thus more resources, not to mention the benefits affordable outside of school, such as tutoring, private lessons, extra-curricular sports, etc.

We have got to look through a clear lens here. We have to pay attention to the plight of what teaching to these assessment tests only does to the quality of daily instruction. I took tests in school but they were in relation to my teacher's curriculum. Then I carted home my green report card with the gauge of my success as a student several times a year. Once a year, I took the famous Iowa Test along with everyone in my school district. I was extremely intimidated. I later realized that I am not a good test-taker. I panic. I am much like many people and certainly many students. But we took the test with our #2 pencils poised to fill in the bubbles. Then, the next day, we got back to learning. 

Put Your Efforts Where Your Mouth Is...

Yesterday I watched a discussion on CSPAN2/Book TV between Diane Ravitch and Steven Brill as they debated issues and concerns regarding the current state of American education on the show Afterwords.

Here we have two people who are obviously invested in the current state of education in our nation, as we all should be. One of them has the newest book on the market, written by a professional journalist who admitted in the conversation that he was motivated to investigate educational issues after he heard about the infamous "Rubber Rooms" in New York City. He is noted for creating "Court TV." He completed law school but clarified Ms. Ravitch's stating that he was a lawyer by explaining that he did not take the bar exam. Most likely a well-meaning fellow. With a book that is getting a lot of press.

Diane Ravitch has 40 years of teaching and writing on the history of education. She has experience working with the first President Bush on national education reform and with numerous think tanks studying educational policy. She also has a recent book that looks at the concerns from a place of her study, her practical application, and her data, one of several.

Steven Brill anticipated antagonism so,in turn and without warrant often, he created it throughout the whole hour. It was supposed to be an interview but it was a dialogue and at times bordered on argument. I have to stand on the side of Diane Ravitch, who has dedicated her whole career to the subject that Brill, the journalist, has just opened his eyes to, and upon which he has churned out a book now that he has become enlightened to the problem.

Good for him that he took some action. He wrote a book to call people to the cause. But does he miss the real point? I have not yet read the book and I feel obliged to do so. But I believe I am going to be annoyed when I do; I can tell from his performance on Book TV.

There is plenty on the internet to give some insight and substantiation of my perception. Search out the reviews. View the episode of Afterwords yourself. But what I really want to suggest is that there should be some sort of mechanism to allow these people to try education on for size. Actor Tony Danza tried with his reality show, Teach. He had to teach two classes for one year. Twenty-six students who met the "casting call." He was reduced to tears. His show was cancelled before the complete run. Cameras left school in April. Tony left in June. He did not return nor is he pursuing permanent certification. He understands how hard it is.

So for those who are considering school reform, for instance, Steven Brill, here's an idea: go teach in any school of your choice for one month. Pick your grade level. Pick a subject if you are in secondary school. Work all day. Administer pre-tests, design lesson plans, learn your students' names, teach them all day, grade papers, council students and meet with parents, take lunchroom duty, proctor in-school suspension, monitor study hall, attend faculty meetings, and then administer post-tests and assess the quality and retention of learning based on your work. Then receive evaluation of your effectiveness as a teacher. You will be permitted to take a vacation after that 4 weeks. You will need it. Then tell us about how badly teachers perform in America. Then you can speak authentically about teachers unions, charter schools vs. public schools, and what you understand about the challenges to teaching our youth and the level of support any teacher receives in being professionally prepared for what will happen in that classroom daily.

I suggest this very same for all of our federal legislators before they debate on funding for education. People do not understand. For years I have heard people tell me that teachers have an easy job. Oh yeah...just try it.

I am in numerous schools throughout the year, in urban, suburban, and rural settings. The average adult worker could not do this job. I see it through a clear and large lens. Don't believe the myth of all the vacation time and short hours. These are the people who are shepherding our youth toward their future. Have some respect for those in whom many of us are placing the responsibility of raising our children. They are so much more important than a judge on American Idol or a professional athlete, so much more worthy of our respect, if not our devotion and idolatry.

My Compulsions Drive Me Incessantly

I have many obsessions, compulsions, and inspirational activities. I keep many lists, I like even numbers better than odd, my silverware drawer must be just so at all times.

 

I also incessantly review, revise, and self-edit. So, first things first...I reread my post of the other day and found a great typo, thinking poetically. What should have been eminent domain was posted by my fingers as imminent domain. I like the pun. I am often delighted by puns so this works; however, I wanted to be sure my readers see that I do recognize the difference. 

 

My other obsession is for word games. I adore Scrabble, Super Scrabble, and the game of all games, Boggle. The problem is that these are interactive games that require at least one other player as well as keeping score. My sister-in-law, Susan, introduced me to a new one this week: Bananagrams. It is like Scrabble with no board and you play your own words by yourself, while your other friends create their grids. And the tiles come in a cute little banana pouch that looks like a yellow fanny pack. What more could a word geek ask for? You can play with others or you can play by yourself! Yippee.

 

I have researched E-Bay for the game at a discount but, with shipping, it will be the same as buying new. I know what I want when I have an extra $15 to splurge. I also know how to resolved some holiday gift ideas in December. Ah, yes...I am starting my list. Perhaps I will plan ahead this year. Until then, I will just raid the Scrabble tiles and play with the same concentration that I apply to the many versions of Solitaire that can consume me on a rainy afternoon.