On Teaching: FLEXIBILITY

Because I managed to cover very little of my planned lesson in one of the 9th grade sections today, I grew discouraged for a while. “Yo, Salsich!” I shouted to myself. “How about sticking to your lesson plan! Even a beginning teacher can do that!” I beat myself up for an hour or so after school, thinking that my curriculum was irreparably damaged and that I was a perfectly awful teacher. Fortunately, however, I soon came around to thinking about the wonderful value, and power, of flexibility. The word “flexible” means, according to one dictionary, “capable of being bent repeatedly without injury or damage.” Think of a slim, supple tree limb. Countless storms blow past it in its long life, yet it stays as strong as ever, and always produces its lovely blossoms in the spring. In the wildest storms, the tall pine trees on the sides of mountains simply sway back and forth and patiently await the return of calmness and sunshine. In fact, don’t our arms and legs actually grow stronger when they are “flexed” – when they are “bent repeatedly” in various kinds of exercise? Not only do they not suffer “injury or damage”, but because of their limberness, they actually prosper when faced (as in a gym) with stress and resistance. When I ride my bike, pedaling faster and climbing steeper hills only makes my flexible legs become stronger. The more I thought about this, the clearer it became that my 9th grade class today, the one in which I “failed” to complete my lesson, might have actually been a gift to me. My thorough and detailed lesson plan ran into resistance, similar to the strong winds a tree limb faces, but I didn’t allow myself to suffer “injury or damage”. I remained flexible. I simply swayed with the distractions and interruptions, and soon enough we got back to our usual calm working mode and accomplished a few important things. Later, looking back on it, I realized that I was just as strong a teacher as I was that morning, and the students were just as brilliant, and my curriculum was as focused and well-planned as ever. The “winds” of today’s distractions and interruptions had had no ill effects, and, in fact, may have made me a wiser and better teacher. Like the flexible tree limb, I’m still here, still strong, still ready to blossom in my classroom tomorrow.

On Teaching: LEARNING BY DANCING

In need of a spark for my teaching, I visited Jeannie's 7th grade Dance class yesterday and saw cooperation, caring, enthusiasm, intelligence, support, confidence, determination, courage, idealism, and gentleness. I think I went to the right place.
It would take pages to describe all that I learned about good teaching and learning in my visit, but let me give a few highlights:
* The kids were smiling or laughing during the entire class. It reminded me of a quote I have above my desk: "The shortest distance between two people is laughter." It also reminded me of something one of my earliest mentors encouraged me to remember -- that learning is a whole lot easier when the students are happy.
* Of course, this being Dance class, the students were almost constantly moving, which recalled to mind something John Dewey said -- that kids under 13 find it almost impossible to learn anything without moving their bodies.
* Jeannie seemed utterly relaxed and patient. From my perspective, chaos seemed to be reigning around her as two groups prepared their dances in separate rooms (she skipping from one to the other), but I guess to Jeannie it seemed as natural and beautiful as the swirling of breezes in the forest. I'm not yet sure what I mean by this, but she seems to teach her classes the way nature runs the universe.
* One girl came racing to the door and shouted, breathlessly, "Mrs. Williams, come and see our dance!" I've had some successes as a teacher, but no student has ever breathlessly shouted, "Mr. Salsich, come and read my essay!"
* Her Dance students spent much of the time improvising -- suggesting ideas, making changes, asking others' opinions, reformulating plans. This was intelligence and democracy at work. It occurred to me that Congress could learn some lessons from these children
* I keep a quote in my plan book that says "No two children are alike".
Jeannie seems to have memorized that great truth. In her class, some kids were active, some quieter; some were always agreeable, others were resistant. There was obviously a part to play for each emotion and for each of her unique students.

Instead of getting a spark for my teaching, perhaps I should say I felt many fresh breezes as I watched Jeannie conduct her class in the most natural of manners. Watching her and her students was rather like being in a forest and watching nature be its free and beautiful self.
My thanks to a magnificent teacher.

Journal: 9/28/05

This morning, as I was rather unsuccessfully stumbling into the new day, I received a valuable gift at the drive-through window of a coffee shop. Wearing a sleepy and sullen face, I pulled up to the speaker and gave my order. Surprisingly, the voice that spoke to me was cheerful and vibrant. As though she was doing exactly what she loved best, she pleasantly repeated my order back to me and asked me to "drive on up". At the window, this cheery woman smiled and handed me a roll and a cup of coffee that was steaming like a small bubbling pot of energy. She looked like a thoroughly benevolent and happy person, and just seeing her smile lightened my load of gloominess somewhat. She returned my change with eagerness and precision, and I started on my way again, wondering why this woman who toiled at a humble, low-paying job in a tiny coffee shop seemed to find life so wonderful. As I drove to school, I thought a lot about what had just happened. I had given this woman several dollars, but she had given me something much more precious. Just by seeming to thoroughly love her work and her life, she had reminded me that life, which can sometimes seem somber and ill fated, is basically an ongoing marvel. In effect, she had held up a sign that said, "Be grateful for this amazing life." I may drop off a thank-you note to the coffee shop tomorrow.

Journal: 9/27/05

Yesterday a fresh fall breeze was blowing almost constantly. There was only intermittent sun, but it didn’t matter, because even the clouds that swirled across the sky looked new and windswept. Unfortunately, my teaching wasn’t all that stimulating, but at least the students and I could glance outside occasionally and be cheered by the lively look of the weather.

DISCOVERIES: All Night Streetlights

I'm not sure I ever knew that streetlights in my town (and all towns, I guess) are kept on all night long. This morning I did my daily exercise hiking up and down the hilly street near my house, and, at 5:00 am in the total darkness, the streetlights were shining brightly down. Nice to know -- that while we sleep, the streets are lit up all through the night hours to keep things bright and safe.

Journal: 9/26/05

This weekend was, as usual, fairly relaxing for me. (I’m so lucky in that way. Millions of people struggle all during the week, and then continue to struggle, in different ways, on Saturday and Sunday. For them, life must seem to be a thing of constant and unfulfilling toil. For me, at this point, life is pretty much a dance, or the floating of a laid-back river, or the soaring aloft of a peaceful balloon.) I worked over at school for several hours on both Saturday and Sunday, but, as usual, it was an inspired, refreshing kind of work – the kind that rejuvenates rather than exhausts. I put together what looks like a good set of lessons for next week, and also graded many essays in a careful manner. All the while, the music of Mozart or Haydn was playing in the background, just loud enough to lend an atmosphere of harmony to my work. I also spent some time with good friends at several parties. I didn’t stay long (home by 9:30 both nights), but long enough to appreciate the happiness that comes from knowing good people. The homes where the parties were held were lovely places, which only increased the sense of ease and leisureliness I felt throughout this last weekend of September.

Journal: September 24, 2005

I’ve been exercising in the morning (instead of after school) the last few days -- and enjoying it. On Thursday, I went to the gym at 5:00 am and rode hard on the stationary bike. I felt fairly strong as I was pedaling and was also able to do some helpful meditating during the workout. What was really nice was the drive home along the silent, still-dark streets, then the refreshing shower, and breakfast at school – with outstanding coffee –as I put the last bit of polish on my lessons for the day. On Friday, again at 5:00 am, I trekked up and down the big hill on Granite Street four times carrying a 30-pound backpack. The morning was lovely – a cool breeze blowing, a few stars sprinkled overhead, and silence and peacefulness all around. It was actually a pleasure to lug that big pack up that hill over and over, knowing that I was starting a good day well and that I was rounding my climbing legs into shape for the upcoming adventure in the White Mountains with my 8th grade students. This morning I’m going to ride over to school on my bike, pushing hard up the hill on Broad Street. Coming home, I’ll take the long way around Greenhaven Road, thus getting my necessary exercise while also seeing the beautiful scenery of this part of New England, especially the silver Pawcatuck River as it pushes at its own leisure toward the sea.

Journal: September 23, 2005

Yesterday after school I drove up to visit with Jaimie, Jess, and Noah. It was a lovely day for a drive through the Connecticut countryside. The temperature was warm (I had the car window down to catch the pleasant late-summer feel of the wind), the sky was blue, and all the fields and trees had that silent and satisfied look that I’ve always loved about this time of year. I drove in a relaxed manner, almost as though I wasn’t driving but just cruising along on a sight-seeing tour bus. Up in Brooklyn, I enjoyed a wonderful visit with one of my favorite families. Noah was a bit bashful at the start (perhaps due, Jessie thought, to a less-than-beneficial nap earlier), but he soon loosened up and became his usual merry self. Before long we were happily playing with his wee train set or romping around outside in the summery weather. I especially enjoyed sitting on the couch with him and singing songs from a book he had received for his birthday. He sat beside me in his proud, perfect-posture way and followed the songs as I sang. Occasionally he threw up his arms and let loose with one of his sparkling laughs, which started me laughing, too. They were glorious moments in a glorious afternoon in lovely northeastern Connecticut.

On Teaching: ASSERTIVENESS

I would like to develop more assertiveness in my classroom. Poking around in my dictionary this morning, I found an intriguing definition and history of the word which may help me formulate my approach to encouraging the growth of this quality, both in me and in my students. One definition says that being assertive is simply “stating or expressing positively”, as in “He asserted his innocence”. Certainly I want to encourage this in my classrom – the ability to express who we are in a positive and strong manner. The definition doesn’t imply brashness or aggressiveness: it simply suggests that people like my students and I should be able to confidently show our true selves each moment in the classroom. What I found especially interesting is the history of the word “assertive”. It apparently derives from the Latin word for “join”, suggesting that a person who is assertive – who expresses in a positive way who he or she is – is doing so in order to “join” more completely with the rest of the human family. When my students and I are assertive, we are stating in a forceful manner that we do, indeed, “belong” – in the classroom and everywhere.

On Teaching: KEEPING RECORDS

Yesterday I did a good job of recording some of the important things that happened in class. I kept track of which students made comments, and even what some of them said. I kept my small clipboard handy at my side, and simply wrote check marks and a few words now and then. Then, after class, I arranged some of the records so I could refer to them later. It felt good to be organized and efficient, almost as though I was placing the high points of each class in an orderly “file cabinet” for future reference. Surprisingly, I discovered this morning, in one of my dictionaries, that the word “record” derives from the Latin word for “heart”. When we record something, we, in a sense, place it “in our heart” – put it somewhere for safe keeping because we consider it special and valuable. We want to keep this event fresh in our memories – in our hearts – so we make a record of it. I’m going to remember this today when I’m trying to record the special things that happen in class. It’s all about the heart. It’s about realizing that many of the things that happen in my classroom are unique, special, and extraordinary, and that I need to hold them close to my heart – to record them so they last forever.

Meditation: GENTLENESS

“Thy gentleness hath made me great.” -- Psalm 18:35 Today I want to practice gentleness – to feel the incredible greatness that comes from giving up all resistance to the present moment. Indeed, that’s what gentleness really is – a complete lack of resistance to what’s happening right now. If we resist, struggle against, or try to change the present moment, then we are obviously not being gentle. Gentleness means allowing – relaxing and letting the universe unfold as it must. The word “must” is important here, because it implies, correctly, that the present moment is exactly as it must be, and it would be foolish – insane, even – to try to resist or change it. Being un-gentle and attempting to alter the present would be as crazy as jumping up and trying hard to stay in the air, fighting against the law of gravity. Or, imagine someone trying feverishly to make tomorrow come faster. We would say he was acting crazily, and we should say the same about someone who struggles to change the present moment. The most wonderful aspect about being gentle – giving up all resistance and becoming an “allower” – is that it enables us to partake of the greatness of each moment. For it’s true that the greatness of the universe – every bit of it – resides only in the present, and if we totally accept the present, than we become part of that greatness. Notice that we don’t become great by being gentle; we simply participate in the greatness of the immeasurable universe. By being gentle today, I can experience, and be part of, the greatest power of all.

Journal: September 20, 2005

Yesterday was another slow-moving, airless day. By early afternoon, my students and I were almost entirely immobilized by the sticky heat. When I tried to introduce Shakespeare to the 8th grade, they nearly dozed off in unison, and the 9th grade spent most of the class time wiping perspiration from their faces. Whenever I looked outside, even the trees seemed to be standing perfectly still in a warm, late-summer stupor.

On Teaching: TAKING AIM

I was not a thorough teacher yesterday, not careful to cover my lessons in a slow and deliberate manner, so, when I got home, I did a little dictionary research. After searching through various definitions and synonyms, I came upon the word “punctilious”, a synonym for “thorough”. What’s interesting about the word is that it derives from two Latin words that mean to point and to pierce. As I thought about my classes yesterday, I realized that I wasn’t totally focused. I wasn’t pointing myself directly at each specific task in my lesson, and I surely wasn’t piercing the heart of each task, or the main idea of the lesson, or the minds of my students. It’s disappointing, because this kind of care and attentiveness is not that difficult. It’s no more complicated than an archer pointing an arrow at a target or a surgeon piercing the body of his patient in order to restore the patient’s health. Of course, in a way, these actions are complicated, but not to a trained expert, which is what I’m supposed to be. The archer who has honed his skill over many years finds it fairly easy to focus the arrow directly on the bull’s eye, just as the surgeon has little problem getting right into the heart of the problem and restoring health to the patient. I am a highly trained teacher, and, as such, you would think I could point my attention directly on each part of a lesson until I had completely pierced the minds and hearts of my students with the “point” of the lesson. You would think I could be “painstaking” –-willing to endure a little mental discipline and pain –- in order to complete each step of the lesson in a comprehensive manner. Yesterday I wasn’t, but today is another day. Today I will take more careful and steady aim.

Journal: September 18, 2005

I took a walk up the hill of Granite Street (heading for D’Angelos to pick up dinner) and I realized, shortly after I started, that I had never noticed most of the houses along the way. Strange, that I’ve lived here for two years and have never paid any attention to the houses on the street. In fact, I’ve paid no attention to anything around my house – the trees, the look of the land, the houses. As I climbed the hill, I felt like I was walking in a strange, undiscovered country. I worked over at school this morning, feeling a little guilty about spending a lovely Sunday morning in my classroom. I thought, maybe I should be out doing what other people are doing on this cool, clear morning – walking on the beach, hiking a trail in the woods, having brunch at a seaside restaurant. Most people are probably having great fun this morning, I said to myself. But then it came to me: I, too, am having fun. This is what I love to do, just as other men love to walk a golf course, fish a quiet stream, or take a walk in a forest. I love working in my classroom. It’s the best way I know to spend a beautiful September Sunday morning. After that, I relaxed and thoroughly enjoyed my work.

Journal: 9/18/05

Yesterday, since my car is in the repair shop, I rode my bike over to school to do some work. It was good to be back into that routine, cruising over roads I’m so familiar with, feeling strength in both my legs and my thoughts. I rode hard almost all the way, both to school and back. Once again I enjoyed the silence of the school on a Saturday morning. It was a moist, overcast day outside, but a good-natured breeze blew in through the window and across my desk as I worked. While planning my lessons and reading student essays, I listened to some Haydn quartets, which only strengthened the sense of peacefulness I was feeling.

TS This morning I came across the word “provide” in some reading I was doing, and I began wondering how it might relate to my classroom. SD Searching in a dictionary, I discovered that the word derives from Latin words meaning “to see forward, or ahead”, and that immediately seemed to connect with my work as a teacher. CM My job, after all, is to look ahead into the future of my students and see what skills they will need as readers and writers. CM In one sense, I must always keep an eye on their futures, because my job is to provide them with the good language habits they will need to function comfortably and successfully in the coming years. SD In another sense of the word, both my students and I must be providers in my classroom. CM We must constantly be ready to look ahead and anticipate what other people might need. CM If some lemonade is spilled, we must be ready to provide a towel; if someone seems discouraged, we must be ready to provide support; if someone writes a successful poem, we need to be ready to provide congratulations. SD Of course, it’s true that my students and I should maintain our primary focus on the present moment, on the task at hand, but we also should keep one eye trained on possible upcoming events. CM As the Boy Scouts of America program teaches, we need to "be prepared”. CM In the classroom, we all need each other’s help as various situations arise, and therefore we must be ready to act as providers. CS As our lives as teachers and students move forward, we must be always ready to “see forward”, and provide.

Poem: "Spirit"

It is the spirit of cars that gives them liveliness in the morning. It is the spirit of faucets that sends forth water to bless our hands. It is the spirit of thoughts that makes them land and settle in the branches of our lives. It is the spirit of a book that shakes the branches like a breeze.

Journal: 9/17/05

Yesterday was sultry and steamy, with periods of soaking rain from morning through afternoon. The students and I perspired through my classes. It was a good day of teaching and learning, though, mostly because these kids are kind, sincere, and anxious to show that they are excellent learners. A wonderful thing happened yesterday afternoon. I picked up Matt at his school and we drove to the car repair shop to get his car. While waiting there, my car decided it didn’t want to start anymore. When I turned the key, all I heard was a snapping and whispering sound under the hood. What was wonderful about this was that I just happened to be in the parking lot of a fine and friendly mechanic. He came out with a smile, took a look, made a diagnosis, and said he could fix it tomorrow. I left it with him and drove home with Matt, thankful that the car broke down precisely where it did, rather than sixty miles away. It proved once again something I’ve known for many years – that this world is very good to me.

Today a drenching rainstorm sprang out of the clouds around 2:00 and proceeded to beat down on the school for the next hour or so. It came on very suddenly. One minute the air was silent and motionless, and the next moment it was loudly humming with one of the heaviest rainfalls I’ve ever seen. I don’t think any of us were ready for it; there was a look of shock and surprise on most of the faces I saw. It got me to thinking, as I drove home through a blanket of rain, that no human prepared this rain, or organized it, or set it in motion, or controlled it. We love to believe that we have everything under control, that our days can be planned and orderly affairs if only we stay alert, but here was this storm that unexpectedly pounced upon us, as if to remind us that, in this vast universe, things happen pretty much whenever they must. We little humans don’t, in the end, have much to say about it. I need to remember this truth as I go about my teaching day by day. Yes, it’s important for me to carefully plan my lessons each day, but actually, truth be told, it’s a little like planning a transatlantic route for a small sailboat. It’s good to have the plans in place, but any mariner knows that a thousand variables, sudden storms among them, will be affecting the little boat as it makes its passage. He sets his course, but he also says a prayer to the god of the winds that it will take him eventually to a good place. As a serious teacher, I plan my lessons diligently, but I always keep an eye out for those swift and startling explosions of life that are constantly happening in my students, in me, and in the surprising world around us. I realize that I am, in the end, at the mercy (and mercy is a wonderful virtue) of an infinitely graceful and governing power. I plan my lessons, and then I pray.

Meditation: ANOTHER POINT OF VIEW

“It’s important to look at things from God’s point of view.” -- 1 Corinthians 4:6 There’s a ton of wisdom in this short sentence, and if I paid attention to it, I could have totally serene days, one after another. After all, the only thing that causes turmoil in my life is simply my point of view – how I’m looking at things. If I’m viewing everything from a “personal” point of view, as though I’m a single, separate person locked in an endless struggle with a trillion other separate entities, then my days will indeed be an endless struggle. I will go from obstacle to obstacle, battle to battle -- hour after hour after hour. However, if I pull way back – say all the way out to a distant star – and try to see things as the Universe (or God) sees them, then something very different happens. Then I suddenly relax, because I see that life in all its grandeur and complexity is proceeding ahead without the help of my little, personal, separate self. I see that I don’t ever need to struggle, because the vast universe is unfolding and dancing along precisely the way it must. What I guess this means is that I need to be more of a silent, accepting observer than an involved, controlling participant. I need to do more sitting back and watching and appreciating. The universe I’m part of is an astonishing, miraculous, mind-boggling place, and I should take a front row seat. If a “problem” comes up, it could be one of the best acts in the show.

Journal: 9/15/05

It’s been hot again the last few days. Summer has drifted back to us with its lethargy and lassitude. We're all floating through class as though napping at the beach in July. Everything seems motionless most of the time, as though the seasons have decided to stop progressing ahead because summer wants to stay a while longer. Nonetheless, the kids are trying their best. In my afternoon classes yesterday, they sat up straight and looked as focused as they possibly could, even though some seemed on the verge of passing out from the heat. No one complained, no heads rested on the table, everyone sat up straight and listened as I hummed on about the day’s lesson. I’m a lucky and grateful teacher. They are good kids.

On Teaching: TEACHING AND ROCKET SCIENCE

Whenever I stop to think about it carefully, I realize that the work I do as a teacher is more complicated than the work engineers, mathematicians, and scientists do. Way more complicated. This goes contrary to the typically accepted attitude toward teaching – that it’s a fairly easy profession to get into, that almost anyone can do it, that it’s not “rocket science”, after all. Most people would never put teaching and astrophysics, for example, on the same level of difficulty. The astrophysicist, people would say, must be much smarter than a teacher because he is dealing with a far more intricate and convoluted subject. People, I think, generally picture engineers and mathematicians and engineers with unusually large brains, and teachers with normal-sized, average brains. I find this more and more astonishing as the years pass, because teaching seems more and more multifaceted and enigmatic. What I do each day in the classroom seems like a vast mystery that grows deeper and darker with each year. When I look at students sitting around the table in my room, I often feel like an astronomer staring into the infinite reaches of space. After all, these are human beings I am dealing with, and I am attempting to do nothing less than alter their lives from the inside out. In the entire universe, there is nothing more complex than a human being, and I am entrusted with shaping the minds of forty-three of them. I find that astonishing, frightening, and almost overwhelming to consider. I feel like an astrophysicist trying to understand the most complicated kind of “rocket science”, and finally realizing that it’s way beyond anything I can comprehend. I'm not an engineer, a mathematician, or a scientist. No, I'm smart enough to be a teacher, one of the chosen few, one of the elite, and I couldn't be prouder.

On Teaching: FREE IDEAS

Recently, a student asked me, concerning a classroom activity I had planned, if it was my “own” idea, or had I “found” it somewhere else. I’ve been thinking about her question, and my conclusion is that no, I did not own that idea, and that in fact I don’t own any ideas. I “find” them all. I don’t individually “make” any of the ideas that activate my life, but simply make use of them. It’s almost as if ideas are floating freely in the universe and I gently pull them into my life as they are passing by. Indeed, good thoughts are floating around everywhere, ready for me to utilize. I often find them in things I read, but they also exist in other people’s words, in movies, in television shows, in music, in signs along the road -- in fact, everywhere. The universe is filled with ideas; all I do is come along and borrow them for a while. It’s wonderful to contemplate a world like this – where no one owns ideas because they are all freely shared by everyone. Today in class, I will send out literally hundreds (thousands?) of ideas to my students, and they will do the same to me. We will spend 45 minutes in each class exchanging ideas. At the end of class, we will be entirely different people because we will be temporarily making use of brand new thoughts. Even more wonderful is that fact that we can then share these new thoughts with others, and still make use of them ourselves. It’s as if the world were filled with trillions of dollars and all of it was shared by everyone. Quite a marvelous world to live in – and we do.

Journal: 9/13/05

Yesterday I had a wonderful day of teaching. I worked through my lessons slowly and thoroughly, stopping every so often to give the students the benefit of some silent thinking time, to be sure they were not overly confused. I wasn’t rushed at all. I felt the lessons unfolding in a natural manner, sort of the way the weather of a day unfolds – inexorably and at its own perfect pace. Speaking of the weather, it stayed just as lovely yesterday as it’s been for the past many days. I even took my class outside for a period in the afternoon. We sat on the grass as the refreshing winds swirled around us, and I read part of a story to the students. There we were in paradise – at a one-in-a-million school on a fine September day of sunshine and peaceable breezes.

On Teaching: BREEZES IN THE CLASSROOM

Every so often, one of my students suddenly “gets it”: an understanding comes to them so that they “see” what I’ve been trying to teach. The analogy most often used to explain this phenomenon is the light bulb. I might say a light bulb switched on in the student’s mind, as though someone inside her head turned a switch and understanding was suddenly there. One moment the student is in mental darkness, groping among my words to try to find the way, and the next moment the lamp of his brain is glowing with a clear light that says, “I got it!” Another analogy, and one Jesus used, is with the wind. When a breeze passed by, he asked his friends if they knew “where it came from”. They were naturally puzzled because, of course, it’s impossible to tell exactly where any breeze began. Jesus went on to explain that thoughts are exactly the same: they suddenly spring up in our lives, but there’s no telling where they originated. Like the breeze, they are just suddenly and mysteriously “there”. Today, I want to be aware of this wonderful phenomenon in my classroom. All day there will be breezes of thoughts passing through the lives of my students and me, and all we have to do is relax and enjoy them. They don’t “start” in our brains, just as a wind that ruffles the leaves of a tree doesn’t start in that tree. The wind is part of the immeasurable forces of the weather that surround the earth, and our thoughts are part of the equally immeasurable Mind (sometimes referred to as God) that’s been gently blowing through the universe for all eternity, and that will be refreshing Room 2 at Pine Point School today from 8:30 am to 3:00 pm.

Journal: 9/12/05

Yesterday I quietly enjoyed one of the loveliest days I can recall. Once again, the temperature was in the pleasant 70s, the sky was soft and blue all day, and there was a gentleness in the air that made me feel like both resting on hillsides and shouting in happiness. I didn’t do much – just a little puttering around my classroom, riding my bike up and down silent streets, watching some football, talking with Matt about teaching – but it was nonetheless one of the nicest days I’ve had all summer. I fell asleep knowing that peacefulness is stronger in this world than chaos.

Poem: "The World Will Show You"

You can’t stop it. The sun will stand on hills tomorrow, despite your efforts. Morning will wear its finest shirt, noon will wish you well, and evening will bring its beautiful book. Even storms may speak their unsullied words, and stars will shimmer in their wilderness above you. There’s nothing you can do. The world will show you what rejoicing is, no matter what you decide to do.

On Teaching: THE FOUNTAIN IN ROOM 2

Today I should feel a wonderful kind of joy as I go about the business of teaching, for a peaceful but astonishing power will be governing all that happens. Unfortunately, I rarely remember this marvelous truth. As I concentrate on getting through my lessons and controlling the flow of my classes, I tend to forget that thought actually controls everything that happens in my room. From the tiniest event to the most significant, everything happens because thought, or consciousness, is ceaselessly at work. (Some people call this power "God".) My classroom is like an infinite fountain of ideas, and it is that fountain which rules the room every minute of every day. It’s an astonishing fact to meditate on, and to try to picture. I can see in my mind, not 43 individual material bodies, but 43 brand spanking-new thoughts each moment. I once calculated that, in each day, roughly 450,000 ideas come into being in my classroom – an overwhelming stream of powerful thoughts that are constantly changing the lives of my students and me. Perhaps it would help, today, if I picture in my mind something like Niagara Falls, with its astonishingly forceful flow of water, and remind myself that I teach in a “Niagara Falls” classroom. There is as much – and much more – power in my classroom each day then there is at those famous falls. The infinite universe is ceaselessly spinning along, creating almost half a million ideas in little Room 2 in Pine Point School. I probably should just sit and marvel at it all, just as I would stare at Niagara Falls surging over its cliffs. My classroom is a spectacular event, every moment of every day, and I am lucky to be present for it.

Journal: 9/11/05

Yesterday morning I worked at school for a few hours, as I usually do on Saturdays – just settling things in place for the coming week and tidying up from last week. It was a perfectly beautiful morning outside – clear sky and soft sunlight over all things – and there was the same kind of beauty in my classroom. I love my room for that reason: it’s a comfortable, lovely, and peaceful place to be. In the afternoon, I rode my bike on the hills near my house again, and this time, for some reason, I paid special attention to the shadows. Of course, they were everywhere – great hulking shadows of trees across the road, shadows of passing cars, and thin lines of shadows of telephone poles and wires. I can’t remember ever paying attention to shadows, but I’m glad I did. I enjoyed riding in and out of them as I climbed the hills and sailed down them again. There was a softness to the shadows, and they seemed to make the afternoon softer as I rode. I watched my beloved Notre Dame and the Red Sox win crucial victories today. What more could I ask of a Saturday in September than lovely weather, a morning in my pleasant classroom, an hour on the shadowy hills on my bicycle, and decisive victories by my two heroic teams?

Journal: 9/10/05

Lately I’ve been enjoying some lovely, relaxing bike rides in the neighborhoods near my house. I don’t push myself quite as long or as hard as I do when I’m riding on busy roads in traffic, but there’s a serenity on these quiet streets that is very appealing. I feel like I’m getting fairly good exercise, plus I’m enjoying the peacefulness of beautiful September afternoons. I pant and perspire, but I also look and listen and smile. Yesterday, I started out around 5:15 and rode for about thirty minutes, across Granite Street and up and down the almost deserted streets between my house and the hospital. I pushed my self fairly hard as I pedaled up the long, gradual hills, but not so hard that I wasn’t able to observe things around me. I noticed much more than I do when I’m riding furiously along busy roads – the look of the different homes, the shapes of trees, the blueness of the sky above. In a way, it reminded me of the way I often spent September afternoons when I was a boy. I would often come home, throw my books down, grab a snack, and head out on my bike to do some exploring. Back then I just cruised around for the fun of it, which is what I’ve been doing this week. There was lots to be seen in Webster Groves back in the 50’s, and there’s just as much to enjoy in beautiful Westerly in September, 2005.

On Teaching: DRAFTING

I often ask my students to write a “first draft” of an essay, but, as with so many words, I’ve never taken the time to analyze their meaning – and “draft” has three meanings that are especially intriguing. First, my dictionary says that a draft is “a current of air in an enclosed area”. That brings to mind a picture of my students’ young minds, tightly locked up by worries, fears, and fixations, when suddenly some ideas for an essay pass through like an unexpected draft. If they’re quick about it, they can find the source of the draft, open it wider, and enjoy the free flow of thoughts as they begin their writing. A second definition of “draft” is “a team of animals used to pull loads”. In this sense, my students are like draft horses when they are writing their essays. It is a daunting task to drag four wagons called paragraphs, loaded with weighty ideas, all the way to the finish line of an essay – and often the road goes steeply uphill. This is why I drive my students so hard day by day in the classroom: I must train them to skillfully and smoothly pull very heavy thoughts week after week. Finally, another interesting definition says that “draft” can mean “to move, ride, or drive close behind a fast-moving object so as to take advantage of the slipstream, especially in a race”. This could be comforting to my students, for it would help them realize that they are writing their essays along with 20+ classmates, all of them riding together on their mental bicycles along the road of successful writing . As all serious cyclists know, if you stay in a pack, the work is much less painful, and you sometimes even feel like you’re effortlessly gliding along. I must remind my students to stick together as they toil on their essays throughout the year. The road of writing may go uphill sometimes, but drafting with friends can make the trip seem pleasant, and even invigorating.

Journal: 9/09/05

The weather warmed up again yesterday. I guess it must have been in the 80s in the afternoon when I was sitting with my students in English class. I didn’t mind, though. I was too preoccupied with the joy I was feeling as I went about, once again, the privileged task of being a teacher of children. I’ve been keeping up with my exercise, though it’s not been easy. I’m experimenting with a new schedule, trying to do my workouts after school instead of before, but I’m finding that I’m usually in an indolent mood after a full day of toil in the classroom. Yesterday I could barely push myself to the gym at 6:00 when I finally got home from school. I did it, though – 30 tough minutes on the hated stairmaster. I was soaked with perspiration when I finished. Each morning, I experience a profitable start to my day. I arise at 3:30, shave and shower, and then enjoy almost three hours of quiet reading and writing. My whole world seems silent and peaceful. Usually the only sounds are the humming of the fan and an occasional car passing outside in the stillness of the early morning darkness.

TS A student said to me yesterday that she wasn’t very “creative”, and I’m sorry I didn’t have time to offer a full response. SD I should have told her that all of us are always creative, because we can’t help it. CM It’s our very nature to be creative – to create. CM We create countless things each moment, though we are often not aware of this. CM All of us, including this young girl, are actually walking factories that are constantly producing astonishing products. SD Take our bodies. CM As my students and I are sitting in my classroom, our bodies are working at lightning speed -- taking in air, pumping blood, and remaking cells. CM This girl who thinks she’s not creative is actually housing an infinitely complex system of operations, more complicated than the most sophisticated factory in the world. CM While she sits and ponders her lack of creativity, her brain is producing astonishing miracles called thoughts at the speed of light. SD These thoughts, actually, represent the most amazing aspect of her creativity. CM The very thought that told her she was not creative was the result of an unbelievably beautiful creative process. CM In some mysterious way, her mind continually takes part in the most inventive and resourceful operation the universe has yet developed, called “thinking”. CS By saying she was not creative, she was simply revealing that she is, that she can’t help it, that she has to be, that it’s the law.

Poem: "Doing Nothing"

DOING NOTHING Doing nothing is a sweet task. You can do it anywhere, as long as amazement is present. You can sit and stare at a river dressed in its mist. You can see what sunshine looks like on fifty different fluttering leaves. You can call out the quietest words, and love the sounds of their syllables. It’s easy to do nothing, because nothing is required.

On Teaching: DIAMONDS IN THE CLASSROOM

I’ve been thinking recently about a helpful analogy: students as diamonds. I started off on this track because someone explained to me that a diamond only reveals its many facets when it is slowly turned in the light. If it always sits at one angle to the light, a diamond can actually appear almost dull. Only by turning it in as many ways as possible can an observer begin to appreciate the almost endless faces of its beauty. I’ve been wondering if my students could be considered diamonds in that sense, and whether it might not be my job to keep turning them in the light. After all, if a diamond has a thousand facets to its beauty, each of my students must have a billion zillion. Far more than a diamond, a human being is an astonishing phenomenon of incalculable richness and variety, and I see 42 of them in my classroom each day. I’m surrounded by living diamonds from 8:30 to 3:00. However, I won’t notice much of their splendor unless I constantly turn them in the light. By planning intelligent and challenging lessons, I must turn each of my students so they are able to show off another talent – another aspect of their magnificence. I must help them reveal their glittering brilliance, hour by hour, day by day. When visitors enter my classroom, I want them to be just as impressed as they would be if they were in the presence of a necklace containing 42 faultless diamonds.

The good ship called Pine Point School shoved off from the dock yesterday morning on yet another nine-month journey across the Education Ocean. The weather was spectacular for the departure, and many parents and friends cheerily waved as the school began another year’s expedition. I recall seeing bright blue skies out my window all day long as my students and I cruised through our lessons. It was an auspicious start to what should be an astonishing adventure. Of course, as in any long journey such as this, there will be ups and downs. There will surely be days when the seas of learning are stormy – when confusion seems to have control of my classroom and the students and I are tossed hither and yon as we try to work through a lesson. But there will surely also be days of serenity and accomplishment, when all around us the sunshine of good books and superior writing brightly shines. What I must remember now, as the second day of our journey begins, is that, since the voyage will be a very long one, the benefits will only slowly accumulate over the course of weeks and months. I mustn’t be overly discouraged or elated by the events of a single day or a single class. This trip will last for 175 days, and in the end, when I look back on it, it will surely seem to have been an adventure beyond imagining. As I look forward this morning to a second fine day on the high seas of learning, I feel fortunate to be a passenger on this sturdy vessel called Pine Point School.

Poem: "Secret Places"

SECRET PLACES There are secret places inside pencils where words sit with their letters folded up, waiting to be found by a writer. There are secret places on the surface of white paper where ideas sit like seeds waiting for the warm weather and rain a writer brings. There are secret places in the air where a writer’s words and a reader’s thoughts can meet, a special place with chairs set out in the shade for sitting and socializing.

Journal: 9/06/05

Yesterday’s weather was of the unbelievable variety. I can’t recall a more glorious Labor Day – perfectly clear air, cool temperatures, and skies as blue as some eyes I’ve seen. I felt inspired by the beautiful weather all day long. I didn’t do anything especially exciting (we had our big picnic on Saturday), but still I felt like a young prince in the fresh breezes and under the stunning sky. I was outside off and on in the morning, but after lunch I spent a few hours sitting quietly in my living room, just idly watching the Red Sox game and thinking happily about the first day of school tomorrow. All sorts of peaceful thoughts floated through my mind, and I just let them float, sort of like the weather was doing outside. The Sox lost the game, but who could care on such a dazzling day? Later, I took a bike ride on the hills near my house. I toiled up the long, steep grades in utter happiness. Yes, it was hard work, and yes, my heart felt like it was set to explode, but who could seriously complain on a day sent from heaven?

TS I’m afraid that many of my students come to school thinking of themselves as “mentally poor”, and I would like to work on changing that this year. SD They know that their families have enough material money to enjoy a fairly good life, but I’m pretty certain that my students don’t think they have much “mental money”. CM They feel poor when it comes to thinking. CM Even the students who regularly get good grades probably believe they have to work extremely hard if they want to discover a trickle of decent ideas in the desert of their own minds. SD I hope I can change their outlook – and it is just an outlook, a way of seeing things that has been programmed into them. CM They have been taught, in explicit and subtle ways, that good ideas are scarce, and that only the most persistent laborers are able to dig them up. CM I want to work hard to help them see another possibility – that wonderful ideas are literally as abundant as the air around them. CM I want them to understand that the universe stands ready to pour in ideas teeming with power and beauty, and indeed is always showering us with these ideas. SD We don’t see them in the same way that people who keep the shades down in their houses don’t see the bountiful sunshine. CM This year I want to show my students how to raise the shades of their beliefs and see the innumerable ideas that stand ready to change their lives. CM I want to show them how immeasurably wealthy they really are. TS?

Journal: 9/05/05

I spent an unbelievably quiet and happy day at school yesterday. Almost no one else was there – just one of the maintenance guys doing some last minute jobs, and several teachers at the other end of the building. I felt entirely alone with my thoughts as I tidied up things for the first day of school tomorrow. It almost felt “holy”, as if I was in a silent church. The weather outside was some of the best of the summer – fresh breezes, blue sky, and the temperature not above 75. As I worked, I was certain that most of my friends and thousands of other people were relaxing on the beach, but that didn’t bother me. My classroom was my beach yesterday, and I enjoyed myself just as though I was on vacation. The new overhead lights lit up the beautiful room like sunshine. I recall thinking, at odd moments, how absolutely lucky I am to be a teacher, and to be anticipating the arrival of 42 wonderful kids in this room on Tuesday. By some stroke of pure luck, the universe has spun round over billions of years and dropped little me down here in this room in Pine Point School at 89 Barnes Road in Stonington, CT, USA, Planet Earth. I almost shook with disbelief and exhilaration. Hard to believe, but for the 41st consecutive year, I was perched on the edge of one of the most extraordinary 9-month journeys a person can take.

Journal: 9/04/05

Yesterday I went to heaven for a birthday party. Well, it was actually just Brooklyn, CT, but it seemed like heaven to me, and one little boy named Noah was the happiest angel of all. It was certainly a heavenly day, weather-wise. The temperature was in the low 70’s, and a lively breeze moved among us as we enjoyed the festivities. There was a feeling of freshness in the air, which fit well with the unbounded vitality that we all observed in the little birthday boy. I was astonished by the behavior of young Noah. I’m sure I have never seen a person enjoy his birthday more ebulliently than he did. He literally danced with enthusiasm from the time we arrived until the time Jaimie carried him off to his nap. He went from person to person, offering play food and friendly smiles, just as if he was the host of the party and wanted to be sure all of us were enjoying ourselves. He especially loved “cooking” the pretend food that someone had given as a present. He stood over his play “grill” with a constant smile (see photo, above), and at one point let loose several wild, unrestrained laughs, as if he could no longer contain his joy. The happiness he was feeling was simply too big for his little body, and it was too big for ours, too. I think we all felt full to bursting with the same gladness we saw in this beatific boy who was just starting his third year among us.

Journal: 9/03/05

In my late-summer campaign to watch some of the most famous movies about teachers, I’ve discovered some winners and some losers. “The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie” is my favorite, being an honest and realistic look at our profession. Miss Brodie was afflicted with an illness that attacks many young teachers – the desire to “lead” her students to think in certain ways and believe what she believes. At the end, one of her students correctly points out that Miss Brodie was supposed to be teaching the girls, not leading them – and there is a huge difference. I also loved, very much, the old, straightforward black-and-white film, “Goodbye Mr. Chips”. Yes, it’s rather melodramatic and one-dimensional, but it does reveal the sincere love of teaching that makes good teachers gradually become great. Chips was totally devoted to his mission of teaching Latin, and, at the end, it’s clear that he reached a high pinnacle in his profession. I’m currently watching the recent film, “The Emperor’s Club”, which, thus far, seems silly and pointless. The teacher in the film (played by Kevin Kline) is weak, foolish, confused, and insecure – at least at this point in the film. Hopefully he will gradually become what Mr. Chips became – strong, wise, clear-headed, and confident.

Poem: "To Be a Teacher"

To be a teacher, you must stand in the fires of the present. You must hold up your honesty like a signal light. Your music must be swing and smooth jazz and the lonesome blues. You must make the mountains a struggle to climb. Your heart must be the lake that lets in every river and stream. Your thoughts must be like spears and flashlights and nets and shovels and clubs and stars rising in the darkness. Your lessons must have wings to carry the heaviest weights. You must speak the words of both frost and summer, as well as those that unfasten hearts. You must test the tightrope each hour.

Journal: 9/2/05

I feel like I’ve been carefully building a sailboat throughout the summer, one which I will launch on Tuesday. Almost since the day school ended in June, I have been planning my curriculum for this year. I have enjoyed the process immensely – the designing of the overall year’s work, the laying out of lessons and skills I want the students to learn, and – lately – the reconfiguring of my classroom. It’s as if I have been constructing a sturdy, seaworthy ship for my students and I to use on our voyage through 8th and 9th grade English – and the launching date is almost here. Like everyone, I am stunned by what’s happening in New Orleans after Hurricane Katrina. The entire city has apparently descended into chaos and barbarism. As I sit in my comfortable home and contemplate a peaceful and satisfying day ahead, thousands of people in that city are living in dread and squalor. They are my fellow travelers on the spaceship called Earth, and I feel almost powerless to come to their aid. I look forward to Noah’s 2nd birthday party tomorrow. He’s an adorable, innocent, and brave boy with long years of exploration and study ahead of him, and I’m happy to be there tomorrow to send him off into the next year of the adventure.