Thursday, July 31, 2008
SERIOUS READING
(written in 2005)
One of my student's parents, a very serious reader, was a guest in my classes on Friday, and he left us with some valuable thoughts. He told us, for instance, that he doesn’t “like” all of his patients, but that he tries to appreciate their worth as unique human beings. He said the same is true of his reading: he doesn’t love every book he reads, but he does try to appreciate their literary value and the wisdom they may hold. I’ve often talked to my students about that very difference, between liking a book and appreciating it, so I cheered a little when he said that. He also said that life, to him, is like an infinite hallway with an infinite amount of doors leading off from it. When he reads a book, he opens one of the doors, and that door in turn leads to countless other doors, which lead to more and more doors. He can’t possibly open all the doors in this hallway, but he tries to remember that each book he reads can lead to an endless number of discoveries. Each book, in that sense, is the beginning of a new life for him. Finally, he told us that, when we read, we must try to make the book “ours”. Until we get completely “in” the book and truly make it ours, it remains just a gathering of words on a cluster of pages. He said if we make it ours, by annotating it, taking notes in a journal, talking to other people about it, or just reading it with care and keenness, a book can literally transform our lives -- words of wisdom from a full-time physician and part-time devoted reader.
GETTING HELP
This morning I had an old familiar feeling of helplessness. I got to thinking, “Where am I going to get the ideas I need to be a great teacher today?” It was a worried, panicky thought, one I have often had – a thought based on the belief that I am an isolated, separate, limited human being who has to toil to invent ideas to use in the classroom. I struggled with it for a while this morning, fretting about perhaps having a bad day of teaching due to a lack of ideas. Luckily, though, just as I was stepping into the shower, a wonderfully reassuring thought came to me. I remembered a simple truth I have often taken comfort in: I am not separate, not isolated, not limited, and not even material. I am part of an infinite spiritual (mental) universe that moves in unlimited and incomprehensible ways. I don’t have to “get” ideas, for I am always a totally new and fresh idea in this vast mental universe. Then I remembered an analogy I often use. A wave in the ocean doesn’t have to work hard to be a perfect wave. It already is, because it is part of an almost limitless and perfect ocean. The wave simply has to relax and be what it must be – a perfect wave at all times. The same is true for me and my teaching. It’s silly for me to fret about getting new ideas for my classroom, for that’s exactly what I am – a fresh, brand new idea every moment. All I have to do to be a good teacher is simply be whatever idea I am at any moment. It’s so easy. In fact, it’s unavoidable. I must, by law, be a wonderful idea each moment in my classroom. There’s no “getting” involved. And no worrying.
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
PERFECTLY LOUSY TEACHING
I was beating myself up this morning because I thought my teaching yesterday was lousy, but that’s a little like saying the Universe did a lousy job with the weather yesterday. The Universe doesn’t make a mistake, and I am part of that Universe. Whatever weather the Universe produces on a given day is precisely the weather it needs to keep itself going. Even if we can’t see or understand the correctness and aptness of the weather, the Universe sees it, and that’s what matters. The same is true in my teaching. I taught the way I did yesterday because that’s what the Universe (sometimes called God) wanted me to do. In the very biggest picture of all, what happened in my room yesterday was perfect. If I see it as less than perfect, it’s because I’m looking at it from the tiniest of perspectives. I’m seeing the small picture of my individual, material life, instead of the vast, harmonious, and perfect picture the Universe (God) sees.
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
ROOMY HEARTS
Recently, as I was thinking about an old hymn that says a grateful heart is one that has ample “room”, it suddenly occurred to me that a heart has more than ample room in it. In its true state, my “heart” -- meaning my inner spirit – has no walls, no boundaries, no limits of any kind. My heart can hold as much as life can produce – all the heartbreaks, sorrows, and disappointments, as well as all the joys and delights. If I could imagine a house whose walls and ceiling extend out for an infinite distance, that’s the kind of room my inner spirit actually has. What produces this endless roominess is the simple fact that my inner life – my “heart” – is not made of a material substance, and thus doesn’t have borders and fences or beginnings and endings. My true heart, like all of ours, is made of spirit, not matter, and therefore has a spaciousness that defies measurement or description. It can easily expand to make room for anything that comes my way – anything. Trouble is, I seem to have long since forgotten this wonderful truth. I often see my inner life as the opposite of spacious – as confined, cramped, and filled to capacity, with only a minimal amount of extra room -- and none for any more tribulations! It’s as if my “heart” is a physical room with walls, floors, and ceilings, and there are simply times when nothing more can be crammed into it. The joyful fact that I glimpsed recently, and am trying to grasp more fully, is that no cramming is ever necessary, because all of our hearts are as roomy and wide-open as the endless universe. There’s ample room for any and all failures and misfortunes. In fact, there’s so much room that I could actually welcome disasters when they arrive. I don’t have to "like" them or fawn over them, but I can definitely say, “Welcome. Please come in and make yourself at home.” As surprising as that sounds, the astonishing fact is that welcoming adversity always makes it less scary and more able to be managed. Like a good host, I can turn those frightening visitors – the calamites that visit all of us – into relatively harmless, and even helpful, guests. I can say to a misfortune, “Now that you’re here in my roomy heart, tell me what you can teach me” – and then thank him when he finally departs.
RELIANCE
(written on October 26, 2005)
I realized this morning, as I was meditating under the soft light of my small computer lamp, that all of us rely on something. Consciously or unconsciously, we all place our trust in some force or power. We say, “You are stronger than me. In fact, you are the strongest force in the universe, and therefore I’m going to rely on you for my security and happiness.” We may not be aware that we say this, but we definitely do; we definitely give ourselves over to the power of some force that we respect and rely on. The problem – and it’s a huge one – is that most of us have unconsciously, since early childhood, placed our reliance in the power of matter and material things – a fake power that actually has no power at all. This reliance starts without our even being aware of it, but within a few years it becomes overwhelming, to the point where every minute of our lives is governed by it. It’s based on a belief that matter is the ultimate force in the universe, a belief, that by the time we are adults, “has grown terrible in strength and influence”, as Mary Baker Eddy puts it. Today, I want to allow the only true power in the universe to gently correct this false belief. After all, it’s not a powerful belief at all -- no more powerful than a wisp of a breeze. If I stay alert to the infinite power of Mind (Spirit, God, Allah, the I Am,) I’ll see that that is the only power of the universe, and it is where I should place all my reliance.
Reading the story in Mark’s gospel this morning about the mute boy who was possessed by a “demon”, I was reminded of my own situation as a teacher. The boy’s evil spirit often tossed him around and made him go “stiff as a board”, and the same sort of thing sometimes happens to me. I get all frustrated, worked up, anxious, worried, and discouraged about my teaching, just as if I’m “possessed” by a devil or a demon – and, in a very true sense, I am. I am controlled, in those instances, by a belief – damaging beliefs are the only true devils – that the world is a material place and I am a separate material creature who has to battle to become a good teacher. This belief shakes me up and causes me to act like an insecure, frustrated child. What I must to in those instances is recover what Mark calls a “sense of God” – an understanding of the spiritual nature of the entire universe. If I can regain that sense, then I will instantly become calm (because the devil-belief has disappeared). I will see that it is actually impossible to be frustrated, because there are no “things” or material forces “out there” to frustrate me. I will have the serene understanding that I am always a part of the one infinite and unopposed Mind, or God, that governs the universe. This mind works in constant harmony because there is no other mind to work against it, or cause disharmony. Realizing this, I will feel totally free as a teacher, just like the boy who was released from his demon-beliefs by Jesus. I will see that nothing can go wrong in my classroom, because the one Power (sometimes called God) governs everything that happens in it.
Monday, July 28, 2008
ONE TEACHER’S IDIOMS
“Watch Your Step”
This idiom would be a fine motto for my young English scholars. I especially like the word “watch” because it suggests the kind of vigilance that I try to foster in my class – a vigilance that seems uncommon among young people these days. During class, I ask my youthful scholars to be constantly on the alert, attentive as much as possible to the nuances of the subject at hand. Neither slouching nor side conversation is allowed. They know I expect them to watch what’s happening in class as carefully as an on-duty sailor watches from the deck. This is a challenging request for the kids, since heedlessness seems far more prevalent these days than awareness. I see a kind of rash impetuosity in many young people, brought on probably by the impulsiveness of the world around them. The scholars come panting into my class and then dash out the door at the end, hoping to make it to their next activity, requirement, meeting, or duty only a few minutes late. It’s a rushed and hassled world they live in, hardly the kind of environment to encourage “watching your step”. However, in English, I try to turn that environment 180°. Instead of glancing at the subject at hand, the scholars inspect it; instead of a perfunctory look, they take a thorough look; instead of just hearing the words of their classmates, they listen carefully to what they mean. Perhaps by all of us watching our step, none of us -- teacher or scholars -- will be likely to “trip up” in English class.
ONE TEACHER’S ALPHABET
J is for Jump
Probing in the American Heritage Dictionary, I found some intriguing definitions for the word “jump”, many of which made me think about my work as a teacher. One definition is “to move involuntarily, as in surprise: jumped when the phone rang.” It occurs to me that surprise should be (and probably is) a regular part of my English classes, mostly because my students, being teenagers and often being fairly sleepy, need to occasionally be jolted out of their reveries. It wouldn’t be a bad idea to cause them to “jump” now and then by making a shocking statement or taking a sudden sharp turn in the lesson. Of course, reading aloud a startling sentence or line of poetry could also be an effective way to get the students jumping, in this sense of the word. Another definition is “to move quickly; hustle: Jump when I give you an order.” My classes are not military boot camps, but they are, and should be, orderly, efficient, and rather intense training grounds for future English scholars. There’s no time for dilly-dallying in my classes. As a teacher, I have a responsibility to prepare my students to be accomplished readers and writers, and for this to happen, the students must follow my leadership instantly and precisely. They need to do a lot of this kind of jumping, from the first moment of class to the last. If they do follow my guidance in this way, they may see wonderful rewards in their paths, and, to use another definition of the word “jump”, they may “take prompt advantage; respond quickly: jump at a bargain.” It’s every teacher’s dream that his students will realize the many benefits to be derived from his class and quickly take advantage of them. He visualizes his students, like shoppers at a fantastic sale, going wild with all the “bargains” in knowledge offered in his class. “You’ll love Mr. Salsich’s class”, he hears them saying in his mind. “He has all kinds of wonderful ideas available, at very reasonable prices!”
-- written in April, 2007
Sunday, July 27, 2008
ONE TEACHER’S ALPHABET
R is for Revolution
For me, this might be called “The Summer I Became a Digital-Age Teacher”. Starting almost the day after graduation in June, I have taken great pleasure in discovering the wealth of teacher tools available on the internet. I previously had a hazy notion of what was accessible out there, but not until this summer did it become clear to me that we are in the initial stages of a major educational revolution. In the last few weeks, my concept of what teaching is all about has been turned topsy-turvy. In a sense, all things related to teaching have become new. It’s like I’m entering a totally fresh and original profession. In some ways, my 9th grade English course this coming year will be unrecognizable to the scholars I taught last year. Yes, I hope I’ll be the same agreeable, gentle, but unrelenting teacher, and we’ll definitely develop the same considerate and helpful spirit in the class, but beyond that, almost nothing will be the same. Gone will be most of the “paperwork”, replaced by scholar blogs at home and the internet projected on a big screen in the classroom. Gone will be the traditional educational ambience of individualism and seclusion, replaced by one of togetherness and support. Most importantly, gone will be Mr. Salsich as the center of attention, replaced by the whole world of learning on the web. People have asked me when I’m going to retire, but what teacher in his right mind would retire at the beginning of an academic revolution of historical proportions?
Saturday, July 26, 2008
DREAMS AND PROBLEMS
(written in October, 2005)
It’s astonishing to realize the simple truth that all my supposed “problems” are entirely mental. What got me thinking about this was a series of scary dreams last night. All night, it seems, I tossed around in the midst of perfectly frightening nightmares. Life seemed, in these dreams, to be a place of impending disaster, with one ghastly adversary after another threatening me. However, when I awoke, it didn’t take me long to realize that it was all just a dream – that nothing bad had happened and my life was still safe and secure. This realization is what led me to think about all the situations that I call “my problems” (not that I have that many – just the average bundle that most of us have). The fact is that, when I search hard for the source of any of these alleged crises, I always end up at my own thoughts. Any problem I’ve ever had is a problem because I’m thinking of it as a problem. Every anxiety, fear, or worry doesn’t exist “out there” in some object or person or situation, but always and only in my thinking. There’s no doubt that my dreams last night seemed absolutely real. In the midst of them, I thought surely I was going to get sick, be hurt, get lost, be late for an important appointment, or even die. But I awoke, and lo, the problems vanished as swiftly as a thought does. This is precisely what can happen with every so-called problem that appears to threaten me. In the future, there’s no doubt that I will be faced with many distasteful situations -- possibly including illness, financial disasters, or personal tragedies -- and I certainly need to deal with them directly, but simply as events that are occurring, not as problems. All I need to do is wake up to the real world. I need to face reality and see that “problems”, no matter how severe, last only as long as the thought of them does.
Friday, July 25, 2008
On Watching a Game You Don’t Care About
Now that the Red Sox are out of the baseball playoffs, I’m rather relieved. Because I have no stake in the outcome, I can finally relax and truly enjoy watching a game. I don’t care what happens in the upcoming games – who wins or loses, who makes an error or doesn’t, who strikes out or hits a home run. All I want to do is simply observe the way the games progress and enjoy the process. It promises to be a stress-free few weeks for me. As I thought about this last night on my way home from the college, I began to realize that this is exactly the way I should approach the “game” of life. I should think of each day as just another game – one which is especially fascinating because my favorite team is not involved. I should look forward to “watching” the way each hour and moment unfolds, just the way I will be watching the many interesting plays in the upcoming playoff games. If something “awful” happens to me today, well, that’s no more terrible than if the Angels commit an error in their first game. I don’t care if the Angels win or lose, and I literally shouldn’t care if I “win or lose”. All I’m interested in is watching the intriguing ways in which the baseball games, and my life, unfold. As far as my life goes, it should mean many relaxing days ahead for me as I sit in the “bleachers” and enjoy the many interesting twists and turns as the “game” progresses.
ONE TEACHER’S IDIOMS
“All Things Considered”
I’ve unconsciously tossed around this phrase countless times, but lately I’ve been thinking seriously about its relevance to my teaching. The fact is that all things should always be considered, by both me and my teenage scholars. We should always try to get the biggest possible picture of these mysteries called life and education. As we go through our days in school, we need to try our best to circumspectly see the innumerable variables that are always in operation. Yes, we must focus on the one thing, the single task, that’s before us at any moment, but we also need to somehow keep “all things” in view. If we do that, my scholars and I will be able to relax and concentrate more efficiently, because we will know we are part of a vast and harmonious universe that always considers all things. In this regard, I find it helpful to sometimes pretend I’m a powerful camera placed on a far away star. First I zoom way in on the single task – let’s say a lesson on theme -- that is before me in the classroom. At that very close perspective, the task seems overwhelmingly important, and, in a sense, it is. Being the one job within reach, it deserves my maximum attention. However, as I pull the zoom slowly back, I begin to see other important things – all my scholars, first of all, with all their fears and dreams, and then the other scholars in other classes in the school, and then the town, the shopping areas, and the homes of my scholars, with their innumerable troubles and triumphs. I begin to realize that, while the lesson on themes is important, so are all these other things. Then, as I keep zooming out with the camera, I see all the scholars in
Thursday, July 24, 2008
"She began with a Bach prelude and fugue. The prelude was as gaily iridescent as a prism in a morning room. The first voice of the fugue, an announcement pure and solitary, was repeated intermingling with a second voice, and again repeated within an elaborated frame, the multiple music, horizontal and serene, flowed with unhurried majesty. The principal melody was woven with two other voices, embellished with countless ingenuities -- now dominant, again submerged, it had the sublimity of a single thing that does not fear surrender to the whole. Toward the end, the density of the material gathered for the last enriched insistence on the dominant first motif and with a chorded final statement the fugue ended. Ferris rested his head on the chair back and closed his eyes. In the following silence a clear, high voice came from the room down the hall."
-- from "The Sojourner", by Carson McCullers
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-- from "The Sojourner", by Carson McCullers
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The above quote from a poignant story I read this morning got me thinking, oddly enough, about teaching writing. As the main character described the piano piece his friend was playing, it reminded me of what I try to encourage in my students' paragraphs and essays. Like the Bach fugue, the students must begin their writing with the statement of a thesis, which is like the "first voice of the fugue, an announcement pure and solitary." They must then proceed to "embellish[]" the thesis "with countless ingenuities", and the end of the paragraph or essay is saved "for the last enriched insistence on the dominant first motif", when the reader is reminded of the original thesis. It's a perfect description of the fugue, in addition to being a very apt portrayal of a good high school paper.
DIFFERENT, BUT NOT BETTER
According to one dictionary, something is perfect if it “lacks nothing essential to the whole” and is “complete of its nature or kind”. By this definition, every present moment is perfect. Each one is a whole moment that contains everything necessary to make it what it is. For that particular kind of present moment, it’s flawless and ideal. I may wish a particular moment was different than it is, but it’s foolish to wish a moment was better than it is. For that specific point in time, each moment is just right, just the thing, just what the doctor ordered, just what it is. What’s wonderful is that all I have stretching ahead of me into infinity is one perfect present moment after another.
ONE TEACHER’S ALPHABET
E is for Engagement (rather than Accomplishment)
As surprising as it may sound, I’m more interested in how engaged my scholars are than in how much they accomplish. Accomplishment is usually a personal and private thing, but I want my classes to be more communal than personal, more public than private. I’d like to develop a cooperative and supportive ambience in my classroom, and this necessarily involves a spirit of engagement. Accomplishment is most often done solo; engagement is usually done together, jointly, as one. In a spirit of engagement, I want the scholars to win over each other during discussions, draw their classmates into the work at hand, and involve each other in the shared enterprise of education. Engagement can also involve a promise a pledge. If you’re engaged, you’re bound to something, attached to it, dedicated to it. You’ve made a promise to be a part of something special, which is certainly a mood I would like to promote in my classes. To me (and the scholars know how I feel), 8th and 9thgrade English class is not just another 48-minute block in which to watch the clock; it’s a unique period for extraordinary learning, and the students need to be thoroughly engaged in it. They know I expect them to make a silent pledge when they enter the room:I will do my absolute best. That kind of commitment is far more important to me than any personal accomplishments by the kids. After all, accomplishments ebb and flow; engagement is a mind-set, a manner, a way of life.
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
THE 10,000 THINGS
BEYOND MY CONTROL
This morning, as I was looking out the window during breakfast, I realized that everything out there was happening without my consent or cooperation. I had nothing to do with which way the cars went, or how fast they were going. A breeze was stirring in the trees across the street, something I had no part in planning or executing. Completely beyond my control, sunlight was landing on the grass in its own distinctive patterns. Then I began to think about myself, sitting at my table with my coffee and slices of whole wheat toast. Did I have any control over the making of the bread? Did I build the coffee-maker that made the coffee? Going even further, I asked myself if I truly controlled my thoughts and actions. When the thought came that I should pick up the toast, where did the thought come from? Did I make, and therefore control, that thought? If so, then who made the thought that I made the thought? Didn’t it actually just arise, willy-nilly, beyond any real control by me, and don’t all thoughts arise in that way? I can pretend that some separate person called “I” controls the thoughts that come up in life, but the truth is that they simply wander into my life, utterly beyond my control. (Even the thought in that last sentence blew by like a passing breeze. I just happened to catch it.) I guess the reasonable conclusion from all this is that nothing is really under my control. Thoughts and feelings are just as free from my jurisdiction as are cars, breezes, and sunshine. I can play the pretend game of controlling things, but it’s only a game. What I should probably do more often is quit trying to manage it all, and just sit back and take pleasure in it.
--written in August, 2007
A TOTALLY NEW LIFE
Walking through the park this morning, I was struck by the fact that everything that was happening was totally new. Each scene and each event was unlike any scene or event in the past. Nothing like this had ever happened before. For instance, never in the history of the universe had Hamilton Salsich been walking in a purple shirt at a particular point in the park when the shadows were exactly like they were and a specific monarch butterfly had just landed on one individual purple blossom and thunder of a unique tone and volume was rumbling in the west. This was all totally new. Also, never had my shoes, when they were in the exact condition they were in this morning, touched the sidewalk when it was in the exact condition it was in this morning. This was all totally new. Not only that, never had the precise oxygen atoms that were working inside me this morning passed the large beech tree at the northern end of the park when it was in the exact circumstances it was in this morning. This was all totally new. All of us love to get something brand new – a newborn baby, a new house, a new car, even a new shirt or a new five-dollar bill. This morning I realized that we get an absolutely perfect, brand-new gift each and every moment. Not a bad life, I’d say.
August 16, 2007
THAT THING IS GONE
“Now that thing is gone, that thing is gone. I cannot cry. I cannot care. That thing will come back no more.”
-- Dexter Green, in Fitzgerald’s “Winter Dreams”
On first glance, the ending of Fitzgerald’s story might seem heartbreakingly sad, but with further thought, a significant amount of hope may shine through the poignant words. Yes, something that was very important to Dexter is gone and will never return, but a reader might say, “Good riddance.” After a young life spent trying to surround his ego with glitz and glamour, what he has discovered is that his ego itself is gone, vanished as surely as the beauty of Judy Jones, the woman he worshipped. Everything he thought was important, including his separate ego, has been “left behind in the country of illusion, of youth, of the richness of life.” What remains, perhaps, is the country of truth and reality – a vast and promising land, indeed. Dexter Green’s story is a common one. Like so many of us, he got lost in the illusion that the world is made of separate “selves”, or things, each trying to build up, beautify, and fortify itself. In this frantic and doomed enterprise, Dexter suffered greatly, until finally his suffering forced him, as it does so many of us, to see that the materialistic view of reality is muddled, destructive, and just plain wrong. He thought he was a distinct, unique, and very successful person, but, at the end of the story, he sees that that vision – that “thing” – is gone forever. At the age of 32, he is totally alone – no ego, nothing to glamorize, nothing to protect – but also, because of his suffering, he may feel somehow united with the wide-reaching and beautiful family of the human race. Perhaps he “cannot cry” and “cannot care” because he somehow realizes that his situation is strangely hopeful. Perhaps he understands, along with the reader, that he can now start to truly live.
ONE TEACHER’S ALPHABET
L is for Lies
“He did not want to tell any more lies. It wasn’t worth it.”
-- Krebs, in Hemingway’s “Soldier’s Home”
As an English teacher, I would like to teach my scholars to write the way Harold Krebs tried to live – without lying. I don’t mean to suggest that the kids in my classes purposely try to deceive me when they write, but I do think their writing often reflects the elusiveness and artificiality of contemporary life. Their digital-age culture constantly bombards them with convoluted and muddled messages, and their essays occasionally exhibit a similar kind of inattentive uncertainty. It’s as if they don’t know precisely what to write, so they just write as much as possible as quickly as possible, using fancy adjectives and intricate sentences to hide their bewilderment. This could be called a kind of lying, in the sense that the scholars aren’t communicating any solidly held ideas. Like their information-loaded culture, they’re shelling their audience (me) with words in the hope that I won’t notice that there’s no particular meaning behind them. Hemingway’s character didn’t want to live that way. After experiencing the gross dishonesty and treachery of war, he wanted to live a life of truthfulness and simplicity, two qualities I would like to foster in my scholars’ writing. I would like them to decide what they believe about the assigned topic, and then explain their beliefs in a thoroughly straightforward manner. If an idea can be expressed in ten brief words, so be it; anything longer or more glitzy might border on dishonesty. “Write just what you mean, and mean just what you write” might be an appropriate motto for the young writers in my classes. If Harold Krebs -- or Hemingway himself – were sitting among my scholars, they would surely appreciate that approach.
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
ONE TEACHER’S ALPHABET
D is for Discouragement
I often grow discouraged about my teaching, but, after thinking about it for awhile, I usually realize that my discouragement grew out of nothing other than mere selfishness. I was down on myself because “I” wasn’t performing as well as I thought I should. (Notice all the ‘I’s in that sentence.) My discouragement was all about me, not really about the kids. I was thinking more about my own standing as a teacher than I was about whether my scholars were learning anything. What I have to start reminding myself, when that happens, is that there’s no room for selfishness in teaching. If I see teaching as being about a separate, isolated, physical self called “a teacher” organizing lessons and manipulating other separate, isolated, physical selves called “students”, then I simply don’t understand the nature of teaching. There’s no selfishness involved in genuine teaching because there are no separate selves involved. Teaching is all about the vast universe (of which my students and I are a part) going about its timeless business of taking care of itself. In order to be a good teacher, I don’t have to do anything “by myself”. I don’t have to sit alone and plan lessons and take sole and lonely responsibility for educating the scholars. That would sort of be like one finger on my hand deciding that it alone is responsible for keeping my body in working order. When I’m doing my work as a teacher, the entire universe is working with me. With the aid of the millions of teachers who have come before me, I plan my lessons; with the help of the countless books I’ve read about teaching, I carry out my duties in the classroom. I don’t need to struggle (and thus become discouraged) all by myself. All I have to do, tomorrow and every other day, is relax and let the universe –which includes my scholars and me -- do its wonderful work.
Monday, July 21, 2008
ONE TEACHER’S IDIOMS
“Meaning Business”
As a boy, I often heard my mother say “I mean business”, an expression that would be suitable in my English classroom. When she used that expression, she meant she was serious about getting something accomplished (as in “clean up this mess, and I mean business”), which is exactly the attitude I want to promote among my teenage scholars. We don’t come together each day simply to indolently pass the time; it’s imperative that we “mean business” about further educating ourselves in the understanding and use of our language. Each of us must constantly embody the mind-set of my mother: be done with foolishness and achieve as much as possible. The word “business” refers to the occupation, work, or trade in which a person is engaged, a clear reminder of what should be happening in my classroom. I want the scholars to understand that we are English workers, not players – that we’re engaged in an occupation, not an amusement. We should feel free to say to each other, whenever necessary, something like, “I want to understand literature, and I mean business.” When we use the word “mean”, we are saying that we have a purpose or an intention – that we intend to learn whatever needs to be learned about reading, writing, listening, or speaking. We are serious about it. Of course, that doesn’t preclude the possibility of good cheer and heartiness in the classroom. In fact, meaning business in our study of English is perhaps the best way to develop an ambiance of cheerfulness in Room 2. After all, getting good things done (whether it’s cleaning up messes or mastering the use of gerunds) usually does bring at least a touch of inner merriment.
SAILING ON MY THOUGHTS
I wonder if I could “ride” my thoughts the way a sailor rides the sea. There’s certainly no doubt that thoughts are constantly flowing along in my life, in a way that’s surprisingly similar to the currents of the sea. Thoughts come and go the way ripples and swells come and go in the ocean. Just this morning, as I was eating breakfast I suddenly found myself carried away by a wave of thoughts about a long-lost friend. If I had been on a “voyage” somewhere, I would have abruptly discovered that I was far off course because of the power of these thoughts. Now, an efficient sailor doesn’t let this type of thing happen. A sailor, first of all, continually watches the sea and the wind, so that he can better predict what will happen and more competently handle whatever situation arises. Also, a good sailor always works with, never against, the waves and winds. She knows that resisting the conditions of the sea can lead to disaster, but cooperating with them, and somehow taking advantage of them, can produce profitable results. This kind of approach is what enables a sailor to truly enjoy the sea, no matter what the conditions. He looks upon the sea, not with fear, but with respect and appreciation. He probably smiles a lot as he maneuvers his boat on the whimsical waves and currents. This, I think, would be a fine way to live with my thoughts. If I vigilantly observe them as they come and go in my life, I’ll get to know their strength and tendencies, and won’t be so apt to get swept away by any of them. More importantly, I need to remember to work with my thoughts and use them to my benefit. Instead of resisting and standing firm against this or that thought, like the sailor I need to simply observe the thoughts as they approach, see how I can use them, and then perhaps just let them pass peacefully by, like the endless swells on the sea. If anxious or frightening thoughts approach, I can watch them coming, make my preparations, and then “turn the sails” a little this way or that to allow my life to move harmlessly, and perhaps even more smoothly, along. What this might lead to is a greater enjoyment of life. If I can perch high on the “deck” and get a clear view of the endless variety of thoughts in the mental sea we all live in, surely I will be better able to appreciate and take pleasure in them, whatever size or shape or type they might be. Like the seasoned and secure sailor, I can smile and say, “Oh look at those huge fearful thoughts over there! Aren’t they beautiful?” or, “I see thoughts of regret approaching. Prepare to come about and we’ll ride on them nicely!” In this way, life, like sailing, could be an entertaining and pleasant sport.
-- first written in August, 2007
Sunday, July 20, 2008
ONE TEACHER’S ALPHABET
P is for Police Work
When I was a teenager, I often fantasized about growing up and doing police work, and as I look back at age 66, it turns out I’ve actually been doing it for the past 42 years. My beat is my classroom, and the people I protect are my English scholars. I feel as proud as a police officer would if he or she had fairly successfully guarded and cared for a community for four decades. Over the years I’ve tried hard to shield my 600+ young scholars so they could go about the essential enterprise of getting themselves educated. I use the word “protect” and its synonyms because I believe they best describe the duties of both a police officer and a teacher. The universal motto for law enforcement officers is “protect and serve”, and it could well be the motto of a teacher. I believe my responsibility as a teacher is not so much to teach, but to allow my scholars to learn. They all have the inner resources to gradually transform themselves into erudite adults, but in order to do this, they need to be protected, during these shaping years, from the chaos, close–mindedness, and animosity of the “real” world. That’s where Officer Salsich comes in. When they enter my classroom, my scholars know they are crossing the threshold of a restricted and sheltered zone, open only to those who wish to help the learning process, not hinder it. They know my classroom will be utterly free of the petty crimes that obstruct education: jealously, selfishness, apathy, and intolerance. They also know, I hope, that, like any dutiful police officer, I am there to serve them. I’m ready to assist them in any way possible as they journey on toward adulthood. You might say I “wait on” them, hovering here and there around the room to see how best I might be of support. There are thousands of loyal police officers around the world who are faithfully trying to protect and serve -- to help their communities flourish and thrive – and one of those communities is Room 2 at my school.
CEREMONIES
I wonder whether I could make each moment of my life a type of ceremony. I got to thinking about this today as I was having lunch in my apartment – at my little table with a white tablecloth, a cloth napkin, and a small vase of flowers. I ate very slowly, taking delight in each bite, appreciating the look of the carefully arranged table and the summery view out the window. I was alone, and it was the simplest of meals, but it still felt like a formal occasion, like a ceremony of sorts. It somehow felt special, which is the way all the moments in my life should feel. After all, each moment is special. Every moment is a brand new experience, a unique and distinctive occurrence which the Universe has been preparing for somewhere around 15 billion years. There’s never been anything quite like this moment, and there never will be again. In that sense, what I’m doing at any given moment is as special, as singular, as extraordinary, as sacred, if you will, as the most formal of church services. Doesn’t it make perfect sense, then, to attend each moment the way I might attend the most formal of ceremonies? If I walk and talk in a church in a careful and attentive manner, shouldn’t I perform each act in my life in the same way? Shouldn’t I reach down to pick up the napkin with care and attentiveness? Shouldn’t I reach out for a peach slice with utter awareness?
--written in August, 2007
RHYTHM
He tapped his cane on the sidewalk
as he walked in the park.
He was proud
that his heart was tapping
to the same rhythm,
and it seemed right
that cars were passing
at a similar pace.
There was power in it,
like the power of pages
turning at a certain tempo,
or words on paper
calling out in cadence.
Saturday, July 19, 2008
GIVE AND TAKE IN THE CLASSROOM
A friend recently suggested that the principle of “expansion and contraction” operates everywhere, and as we talked, I wanted to add “even in a good classroom”. She gave numerous examples: the heart rising and falling, the lungs swelling and shrinking, the spreading warmth of summer and the constricting cold of winter, the opening of dawn and the closing of darkness. She said it was, to her, the primary principle of the universe, of all reality. Life comes and goes, rises and falls, gives and takes, spreads out and squeezes in. After we talked, I gave further thought to how this principle might function in a good classroom. For every expansive discussion, perhaps there should be a time of restraint and privacy, a time of silent contemplation. After twenty minutes of passionate conversation, a teacher might announce ten minutes of quiet thinking. In addition, it might be unrealistic to expect young scholars to exert their most concentrated effort for a full 48-minute class, just as it would be unrealistic to expect our lungs to continuously take in air. For every energetic in-breath there has to be a relaxing out-breath, and for every period of activity in the classroom perchance their needs to be a period of total rest. It might be that a good classroom needs to work the way the lungs work – give and take, open and close, work and rest. According to my friend, it’s the way the universe behaves, and what better model could a teacher find?
Friday, July 18, 2008
HIS GARDEN
One summer day
he hung a small chime
from the ceiling
so it swung in front of the air conditioner.
He then called up some friends
and said he was sitting in his garden,
and could they hear the chimes
in the breeze. They said
he didn’t have a garden,
and he gave them the gift
of correcting him.
As they laughed,
he looked past the chimes
out the window
and saw flowers flowing
down a hillside.
WAVES AND THOUGHTS
As I was sitting at the beach yesterday, I began to consider the similarity between breaking waves and thoughts. There was undoubtedly immense power in the waves I was watching, just as there is in thoughts. I’m often unmindful of the massive force of each thought, but it’s there, just as surely as it is in every wave. Every few moments, a powerful wave came tumbling ashore, and almost every moment a new thought unfurls its power in my life. As I sat on the beach, I realized something particularly interesting: that I have no idea where a wave starts nor where a thought begins. If I try to trace a wave back to its origin, I pretty quickly get lost in the infinite cycles of waves and winds, and I get equally lost in attempting to pin down the precise starting point of a thought. Searching back, all I find is another thought, and another thought, and another thought, with no end ever in sight. I can only conclude that there is no specific origin of a thought, nor of a wave. They each happen in totally mysterious ways and for totally mysterious reasons. These thoughts led me to another understanding – that neither a wave nor a thought exists as a separate entity. Waves and thoughts are both part of endlessly complex systems that began back at the original “big bang”, and probably long before that. To say that a particular thought is “mine” is as silly as saying that one wave on one specific morning is separate from the infinite arrangement of world-wide waves and winds. Waves and thoughts, I realized as I sat on the sand, are powerful in thoroughly unfathomable ways.
-- written on July 8, 2007
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