Just-right rituals

"Ritual is necessary for us to know anything." --Ken Kesey

Rituals are on my mind this week.  Not the ones that come before words like 'sacrifice' or  after words like 'New Age,' but the ones designed to rally large groups and build positive momentum in a way that can look frankly ridiculous to an outsider but makes perfect sense to the people whose ritual it is.

I'm thinking of Texas Longhorns, here.  Longhorns and garden gnomes.

Allow me to explain.  I'll start with the garden gnomes. 

After the winter break, we teachers got together and decided to motivate our advisory groups to achieve greater heights of behavioral excellence than second semester of 6th grade typically inspires.  To do this, we proposed a contest among the groups based on the students' weekly behavior progress report, which takes the form of a paycheck.  The advisory group with the most high paychecks would host a trophy in their room for that week.

Oh, but not just any trophy, protested the theater teacher (who else?)  No plastic, gold-colored column with an abstract figurine on top would do.  Our trophy should be (wait for it...) a garden gnome!

And "Own the Gnome" was born in the 6th grade.  Of course before we could roll it out to the kids, we had to find a gnome.  Which is how I spent almost an entire Saturday a few weeks ago scouring the garden stores of Austin for a suitable trophy.  Let me tell you: there is a definite lack of trophy-quality garden gnomes for sale out there.  I would call ahead and be promised a vast selection, only to arrive and find that the gnomes in question were all solid concrete, or covered in a winter's worth of moss, or one solid color from head to toe, or in one startling example, riding a pig.  The salespeople at the stores were a bit confused by my utter rejection of what, to any discerning gardener, were no doubt excellent examples of gnome-hood.  I didn't bother to explain what I actually wanted the gnome for.  Like most rituals, this one was so culturally specific I knew it wouldn't translate.  

In the end, we ended up ordering the classic Travelocity gnome over the Internet (they come in 13-, 15- and 18-inch varieties, in case you're interested).  The kids were thrilled, especially when the first group who won dressed it up like a pirate (the mascot of their teacher's college).  Who knows if it'll inspire better behavior or just amuse us all no end.  Either way, it's a win.

Which brings us to the Texas Longhorns, the men's basketball team in particular.  Our school sometimes gets free tickets to weekend games, and I was on the list to take some students to a recent match-up against the University of Kansas Jayhawks.

No place on Earth does sports quite like Texas.  The Frank Erwin Center, where the Longhorns play, looks as professional as any NBA arena with an enormous Jumbo-tron and three tiers of seats.  On game day they were packed with orange-clad fans set off nicely by the royal blue of a sizable Jayhawks contingent.  Sitting there, I felt a little bit like an archeologist investigating a large, vigorous tribe rather than a spectator at an athletic event.  There was the marching band, the cheerleaders, the dance troupe, the mascot (Bevo) and, of course, the team.  There was a whole roster of fight songs, hand motions and call and response cheers.  When the Jumbo-tron flashed "On your feet," every single fan in the place leapt to.  When the Jumbo-tron instructed "Make some noise," the cacophony was deafening.  The number of free-throw shots missed by the opposing team was significant, and I lay it at the feet of the entire wedge of seats behind the Jayhawk basket (both halves of the game) who had a coordinated waving motion meant to distract the shooter. 

In the end, the Longhorns lost by three points in the last minute of the game, which made a lot of orange-wearing diehards unhappy.  But leaving the arena I didn't see many frowns.  Instead, people were still humming the fight song, recounting amazing plays and looking ahead to the next game against in-state rival Texas Tech.

Because, of course, being a Longhorn fan, just like owning the gnome, is about more than a single result.  It's about being a part of something that makes perfect sense, win or lose.  That, to me, is ritual at its best.  Not dogma or a myth or something slightly cult-ish, but a way to bring people together and teach them something while they're there.  On the surface the lesson may be something like: if you mind your manners, your group can dress up a 13-inch plastic representation of a garden spirit for seven whole days.  Or: if you shape your fingers into the suggestion of longhorn steer horns and wave them around for an entire game, your team might win.  But scratch a little deeper, and the real meaning of ritual emerges: if you work as a team, you inspire others to do the same.  Sometimes it takes garden gnomes.  Other times, you need a Jumbo-tron and a marching band.  In every case, it's the ritual that gets you there and keeps you learning--Longhorns, 6th graders and the rest of us.

This Train's Year in Books 2011

Welcome to the 2011 edition of This Train's year in books, otherwise known as the Year of Nonfiction and other cool events that are as exciting as fiction but really happened.  This year, in reading and in life, has been full of unexpected surprises and adventure mixed in with the familiar--a winning combination that has left me feeling thankful and blessed, not to mention much more informed on topics ranging from particle physics to rubber duckies and quite a bit in between.  

January: The Disappearing Spoon: And Other True Tales of Madness, Love and the History of the Periodic Table of Elements by Sam Kean

Technically I bought this book last December, but it was the title that opened 2011.  I read it once, then promptly read it again, this time out loud to my mother over the new year while in Belfast, Ireland visiting my sister Sarah and her family.  It is brilliantly written, laugh-out-loud funny and, really, who knew what dastardly lengths scientists will go to in search of new elements? Or what wacky tricks elements can do under various circumstances, some thrillingly technical, some totally mundane. (The disappearing spoon mentioned in the title, for example, is made from gallium, an element that melts at temperatures found in an ordinary cup of tea.  Those wild-and-crazy chemists love to haze the new guy by busting out the gallium spoons at teatime.)

At its core, this book is about the drama, passion and hilarity that often result when people try to bring order to chaos and find answers to life's most fundamental questions. It is therefore appropriate that is represents January 2011, the month I entered into a Pact with four of my closest teaching friends of all time.  Three of us were single, and this Pact was meant to bring order, possibly passion, though hopefully not drama, to our personal lives.  It was not about creating instant chemistry, but about taking the risk of putting ourselves out there--a key component in any scientific experiment as well as in life. 

February: The Hidden Reality: Parallel Universes and the Deep Laws of the Cosmos by Brian Greene

The science theme continued with Columbia University professor and lucid writer Brian Greene's book on the physics of the universe.  I wrote a blog about this book while reading it (see "Flights of Reality" from February 2011), so won't repeat myself here.  This book, however, perfectly represents February, in which I threw myself into fulfilling my end of the Pact with a brief and memorably hilarious (though not at all passionate) experiment in online dating.  Particle physics and string theory have nothing on the hidden realities of meeting up with perfect strangers in coffee shops and restaurants and attempting to make conversation based on a brief blurb on a dating website.  Though I paid for a month of this service, I was done after two weeks and perfectly content to put the Pact to rest.  Or so I thought.

March: A Red Herring Without Mustard and I Am Half Sick of Shadows by Alan Bradley, The Saturday Big Tent Wedding Party by Alexander McCall Smith, A Trick of the Light by Louise Penny, The Eloquence of Blood by Judith Rock and V is for Vengeance by Sue Grafton

I didn't read all of these mysteries in March, but I put them here together because they represent the latest installments of several favorite mystery series as well as almost all of the fiction I read this year.  Reading a good mystery, especially those with familiar characters, is like hanging out with an old friend for days at a time.  But familiarity hardly equals boredom since these "old friends" are always knee-deep in intrigue and adventure.  I especially recommend, as always, Judith Rock, novelist and godmother extraordinaire.  Though I'm not the most unbiased source, I will say that her second installment starring Charles du Luc as an intrepid Jesuit rhetorician/dance instructor/detective in the wilds of 17th century Paris, is impeccably plotted and researched--and, dare I say, even more exciting than her debut last year.

I spent time with a lot of old friends in March, reconnecting on a week-long spring break trip to San Francisco.  I blogged about this, too (see "Sitting Still" from March 2011).  What wasn't mentioned in the demure March post was the intriguing and definitely not-dull moment of meeting Anna amidst a whirlwind of familiar faces, including MW, who introduced us.  The moment I'd given up on the Pact, certain that my personal-life plotline would continue on its nonexistent trajectory, the scene shifted, in the style of the very best mystery novels.  I suddenly found myself not in the drawing room with Colonel Mustard, or in a random cafe with a perfect stranger, but in a San Francisco restaurant with Anna at the start of something incredible.

April: You Are What You Speak: Grammar Grouches, Language Laws and the Politics of Identity by Robert Lane Greene

OK, I realize this whole entry is beginning to resemble one of those cheesy episodes from an 80s TV show made up of "flashback" clips from previous episodes.  I promise this is the last time I will shout out a book I have already written an entire post about (see "Speaking Truth to Grammar Grouches, April 2011), but I can't help it.  This was one of the best books I read in 2011, and one of the best in its genre.  Once again, don't let the lengthy academic title throw you off--this book is as delightful and necessary as it is readable.  And I'm not throwing around the word "necessary" lightly.  The way we speak as well as perceive (and judge) the way others speak is one of the most fundamental ways we decide who to trust, respect and take seriously.  Greene utterly demolishes the notion that there was ever a "golden age" of any language when all people spoke the "correct" way.  In so doing, he intellectually legitimizes the way all languages (including English) evolve and change.

May: In the Garden of Beasts: Love, Terror and an American Family in Hitler's Berlin by Erik Larson

Those of you who enjoyed Larson's Devil in the White City and Thunderstruck won't be disappointed by this departure from his technology-meets-modern-crime theme.  Or perhaps his research into the rise of Hitler bears witness to the most horrific crime in history.  In this riveting book, Larson tells the story of the Dodd family's years in 1930s Berlin.  He focuses mainly on the professorial William Dodd, American ambassador to Germany, and Dodd's fun-loving, sexually liberated daughter Martha, who immerses herself in the Third Reich party scene and discovers much more than she bargained for.  As a reader, it is alternately agonizing and fascinating to watch Hitler's rise to power through the eyes of two Americans who have no idea what is coming.  Larson's excellent writing and detailed historical context keep the suspense high, even when the tragic outcome is a foregone conclusion from the start.

June: The Passage by Justin Cronin

I couldn't put down Cronin's skillfully written thriller about an America devastated by a biological weapon gone awry that turns every tenth infected person into a scary, vampyric superhuman.  Good times, if you are (as I am) a sucker for post-apocalyptic tales involving a few remaining humans battling the evil result of militaristic hubris against all odds.  I read this while in Costa Rica learning Spanish, and it was perhaps not the best choice for bedtime in the sleepy town of Turrialba, nestled in the rainforest and full of insects, small creatures and various other things that go bump in the night.  Though not for the faint of heart, I highly recommend The Passage not only as a page turner but as a glimpse into the hearts and minds of some wonderfully rendered characters that will be returning in the much-anticipated sequel due out in March 2012.

July: The Ascent of Money--Niall Ferguson

Understanding the economy with or without a MBA takes close reading as well as courage these days.  The decisions made on Wall Street (whether by the fabled 1% or not) often seem based solely on myopic greed and the herd mentality.  Turns out it's always been this way.  Ferguson's clearly written account traces money, markets and investing back to its origins and contextualizes a lot of the historical currents that have been battering us lately.  I wasn't exactly reassured, especially given how deeply these currents are affected by psychology rather than the "rational" rules we learn in Econ 101, but I did feel a lot more informed. 

August: One of a Kind: the Rise and Fall of Stuey "The Kid" Ungar, the World's Greatest Poker Player by Mike Sexton and Nolan Dalla

As a teacher, I often plug reading by telling students how it will open up worlds they've never dreamed of before.  I felt this way while reading about Stuey Ungar, a career gambler, drug addict and poker genius who won the World Series of Poker not once but three different times, and then died, virtually penniless in a Vegas hotel room at age 45. As single-minded a gambler as any dedicated artist, musician or executive, Ungar probably won about $30 million over the course of his short life, yet never had a bank account or home address.  His story is a intriguing peek into the world of professional gambling, bookies and bets, and is ably told by Sexton and Dalla based on hours of taped interviews with Stuey before his death.

September: How to Live, Or a Life of Montaigne in One Question and 20 Attempts at an Answer by Sarah Bakewell

I dipped into this book throughout 2011, but finished it in September.  Montaigne was essentially the first blogger 500 years before the Internet existed.  A Renaissance man (literally and figuratively), he pioneered the personal essay, writing about life, love, land, family, politics, plague and anything else that came into his head from his "writing tower" on his estate near Bordeaux.  Just like the bloggers of today, Montaigne had avid fans who felt he was speaking to them alone--as well as vehement detractors who disliked his chatty style and secular, self-referential world view.   Each chapter in the book attempts to answer the question "How to live?" with an essay by Bakewell that puts Montaigne's life and thoughts into context. My favorite chapters were "Question Everything" and "Philosophize but Only by Accident." Though marketed as a biography, this book is much more.  It was also an excellent book to finish as I was starting my second year teaching in Austin, getting ready to through myself into the daily routine of 70-hour work weeks while keeping that question "How to live?" always at the back of my mind.

October: The Psychopath Test: A Journey Through the Madness Industry by Jon Ronson

Ronson starts this book attempting to solve an intriguing hoax.  Someone was sending select neurologists a cryptic, expensively produced book, but no one knew who, or why s/he had been chosen.  On his way to uncovering the (crazy?) book sender, Ronson stumbled upon the study of psychopaths and the test mentioned in the title, a roster of 40 questions designed to uncover the psychopaths among us.  Turns out a surprising number of people "qualify" as psychopaths, some proven violent offenders and others successful in business, politics and even law enforcement.  Ronson's thoughtful (and at times unsettling) book casts a critical eye on the test, its profound affect on the mental health professionals who are taught to use it, and a handful people who find themselves labeled.  No one questions that psychopaths exist, but Ronson makes sure his readers get a complete picture of the industry of mental health diagnosis and treatment.

November: Moby Duck: The True Story of 28,000 Bath Toys Lost at Sea and of Beach Combers, Oceanographers, Environmentalists and Fools,  Including the Author, Who Went in Search of Them by Donovan Hohn

Chart the currents of the ocean and the currents of global trade in this wonderful book about a container of plastic bath toys that fell off a cargo ship in 1992 and captured the imagination of every single person mentioned in Hohn's lengthy title. And Hohn interviews all of them, from the quirky beachcombers of Alaska's Inner Passage to environmentalists studying the infamous Pacific Garbage Patch to a blind oceanographer to the whole crew of a Canadian ice breaker plowing through the Arctic Circle.  I cannot recommend this book highly enough.  When he's not roaming the oceans on a quest for knowledge, Hohn teaches high school English, and it shows (in a good way). His writing is clear and grounded in his knowledge of American lit as well as his own musings.  I especially loved the quotations from Moby Dick at the beginning of each section.

December: State of Wonder by Ann Patchett

Anything by Ann Patchett is worth reading, and her latest novel is no exception.  It has made the Best Of lists of many reviewers and with good cause.  Like all masters, Patchett communicates perfectly with words.  She has an amazing ability to move her characters through time and space without bogging down her descriptions or rushing her expositions. She sets this latest book in the Amazon jungle among a tribe whose women continue to have babies well into their 70s.  An American pharmaceutical company smells a profit, but the scientist in charge of uncovering the secret of this medical marvel has gone native in more ways than one.  Enter our heroine, sent by the CEO of the company (who also happens to be her lover) to find out what's going on after his first emissary dies of a mysterious fever.  Patchett's stories are never simple morality tales of good vs. evil, yet there is never any doubt what is at stake ethically for all involved.  Her 2001 book Bel Canto was my all-time favorite before Cloud Atlas by David Mitchell took its place.  (If you haven't read either of those books, go out and get them immediately!) State of Wonder has an equally compelling cast of characters, though its premise is much more global in scope. 

It was also an excellent book to wrap up 2011 and start 2012, a year that I hope will include much more fiction in my reading life, but no less startling, wonder-inspiring reality.  As always, please write or post recommendations of your own here.  I would love to hear what you have loved reading this year...

Keep Austin Rolling

Anyone who was anyone was at the Austin Convention Center Saturday night for the finals of the Texas Roller Derby Lonestar Rollergirls season.  'Anyone' in this case being tattoo-ed and leather-clad 20-somethings, preppy couples on dates, senior citizens, mid-sized kids with brightly colored signs, babies, toddlers, their parents and at least one brown-cloaked Jedi complete with glowing blue light saber.  We all gathered to see the Rhinestone Cowgirls face off against the reigning champion Cherry Bombs on a banked track.  The girls on wheels came ready to go, sporting grungy green  tank tops, ripped fishnet stockings and black spandex (Cherry Bombs) or Texas-flag-inspired short-shorts and red spangled work shirts (Rhinestone Cowgirls).  Everyone had a nickname, of course, from the skaters to the refs to the announcers.  More on that later...

The rules of roller derby, for those not already in the know, are fairly simple.  The four quarters of a bout (yes, it's called a bout!) are divided into two-minute "jams." During a jam,  two skaters from each team face off as "jammers."  Skating ahead of them is "the pack," a group of 10, five from each team.  The pack takes off and three seconds later the jammers start, skating like crazy women toward the pack.  The goal of the jammer is to make her way through the pack (aided by her teammates, blocked energetically by her opponents). The first jammer to make it through is called the "lead jammer." Once through, the jammers try to lap the pack.  For each opposing player they pass on the second time around, they earn one point for their team.  The jam ends when the two-minute clock runs out or the lead jammer calls an end by putting her hands (as sassily as possible) on her hips. The latter is much more common because it's good strategy to end the jam once your team has collected points but before the other team's jammer can make much headway through the pack.

What this looks like in practice is a bunch of scantily clad women in knee pads and helmets, jockeying for position while roller skating at top speed.  This alone explains much of the appeal of the sport.   It turns out, however, that there are other aspects to a roller derby that add even more verve to the proceedings. 

Now would be a good time to talk about the noms de derby, which are clearly a huge part of the identity of each skater and no doubt carefully and lovingly chosen.  These nicknames tend to include, according to the Wikipedia article on the subject, "elements of punk, camp and third-wave feminist aesthetics." In other words, they are intentionally provocative, ironically trashy and totally hilarious.  (And isn't Wikipedia adorable when it gets all intellectual?)

Last night the Cherry Bombs were led by super-jammer Rocky Casbah, backed up vigorously by teammates Sacra Licious, Roller Gazm and Veruca Assault.  On the Rhinestone Cowgirls, Katagory 5 (a Norwegian transplant, former speed skater and true hurricane indeed) dominated the track, supported by the likes of Dusty Double Wide, Abbey Roadkill and Allie Bamazon.  The head ref, Dee Toxin, kept it real by calling penalties on both sides in equal measure.  She was supported by line refs Chicken Dinner and Major Problem.  You get the idea.

Speaking of penalties, there do seem to be no-nos during a jam, but the consequences simply add to the show.  Major penalties result in the offending player being placed in a penalty box (a la hockey) and the jam is done over.  Minor penalties, however, are another thing entirely.  In Austin, the emcee (aka Mighty Aphrodite), spun the "penalty wheel" after each minor penalty.   On the wheel were challenges such as tug-of-war, pillow fight and long jump, that are just that much more interesting when performed on roller skates.  The skater who got the penalty faced off against someone from the opposing side.  If she lost the face-off, her team lost a point.  If she won, nothing was lost.

As you've probably gathered by now, a big percentage of roller derby, while legitimately athletic in nature, is a lot about show.  In Austin, everyone from the announcers (Wesley Page and Wundamike) to the officials, coaches and skaters contribute to the entertaining campiness of the bout, where a spirit of "all in good fun" prevailed, even during the finals. (And despite the bad-ass reputations promoted by reality shows like A&E's Rollergirls and Drew Barrymore's movie Whip It!, both set in Austin.) At the convention center on Saturday there was no blood, a minimum of trash talking and very little you wouldn't want the posses of seven year olds snacking on Dippin' Dots to witness.  The nicknames, after all, are over their heads, and every time a player flipped off the announcers, the response was always, "Oh look, they're saying we're #1."  The biggest hazard probably came from the noise level of the heavy metal half-time bands.  Most of the senior citizens sitting near me put Kleenex in their ears and kept on smiling.

Which brings us back to the bout.  This year, the Rhinestone Cowgirls walked away with the championship, thanks mostly to the Scandinavian-ice-inspired maneuvers of Katagory 5, who may as well have been wearing one of those sleek body suits for all the Cherry Bombs were able to get an elbow on her.  Next year, though, it could be anyone's season.  Rumor has it that Rocky Casbah might be retiring and Katagory 5 returning to Norway, leaving the track clear for a new crop of ironically campy, fish-net-wearing, kick-ass skaters.  Stay tuned, sports fans...

Extras: peewee football, singing and the universal Coke

This weekend I spent a chunk of time attending the extracurricular events of several students.  This time-honored tradition is always a good idea at the beginning of the school year, especially when it is prompted by cute invitations whispered at the end of class or hand-written notes.  Believe me, it's almost impossible to say no, regardless of the request--which is why some former colleagues have still not forgiven me for dragging us all, en masse, to a three-hour performance of Il Trovatore to see one of our students play Child #11.

This Saturday evening I found myself about as far away from "The Anvil Chorus" as you can get.  Instead of listening to Italian lyrics, I sat on the bleachers of a local sports park with the math teacher ES and her fiance watching a peewee football game.  I had not previous attended a peewee football event (an actual term, along the same lines as 'little league', for under-14 tackle football) and I'm so glad my first experience occurred in Texas.  Because I suspect--and I don't think I'm going out on a limb here--that Texas does peewee football unlike any other state. 

The first thing that struck me was the sheer amount of equipment and infrastructure involved. Of course, the boys all had full uniforms and gear.  But then the coaches had those head-set things.  The bleachers were packed with parents and families, and the scoreboard rivaled any high school field in the country (though perhaps not in Texas).  There were cheerleaders, too (naturally?), with matching uniforms and pom-poms. (Another student of ours was on the cheer-leading squad, which we didn't know until we showed up.) At halftime, they did a little show on the 50-yard line.  The only thing, frankly, that didn't look right out of Friday Night Lights was the level of skill on the field, which was age appropriate, shall we say.  Though I was impressed with the variety and level of plays, as narrated to ES and me by the fiance.  (He was relieved to at least be at a sporting event, having been pressed into watching three students at a ballet folklorico performance the weekend before.) 

It was at this event that I was pleased to witness another time-honored Texas tradition: the asking for a "Coke" and the receiving of a completely different soda because it is understood that "Coke" really means any carbonated beverage from a can.  As a college graduate, I'm aware of the wide variety of synonyms for soda used throughout the country.  But I had never suspected that when ES asked her fiance to bring her back "a Coke" from the snack bar that he would somehow know to return with Dr. Pepper. (Much to my chagrin, after I asked for a sip).

Me:  OMG!  This isn't Coke!

ES: Umm, no, it's Dr. Pepper.

Me:  But, but...I distinctly heard you ask for a Coke!

ES: I didn't ask for "Coke."  I asked for "a Coke." A Coke means anything.

Me:  But how did he know it meant Dr. Pepper in this particular case?

ES: He just did.

I'm sure they will have a long and happy marriage. 

Our student's team ended up being victorious, despite the fact that their opponents ran through a Go Spartans sign as their contribution to the halftime festivities and had a player called Blaze Murphy (for real!)  Most of the touchdowns were scored by Number 8, who couldn't have been more than 4-feet tall, but must have run at least 120 yards during the game.  In the end, our student smiled shyly, then remembered he was cool and ignored us as he and his teammates whooped up their victory.  Again, very age appropriate. 

The second student was singing in the youth choir at church.  I have never before attended the same church as one of my students, but it makes for a nice connection, and we rarely attend the same service. But I made it to the 9 a.m. to hear the choir.  After the service, she not only smiled, but acknowledged my presence and, in a rare middle school move, even introduced me to her friends.  

Attending events after hours can get overwhelming as the word gets out among the kids and even more invitations flow in.  I don't want to pretend I go to everything because I don't.  But like anything that takes extra time and seems like a dubious idea when it's 6 p.m. on a Saturday night and you have groceries in the car and have been out all day--it's always worth it in the end. 

A tale of two Stevens

I'd like to introduce you to Steven Brill and Dr. Steven Paine, my two new buddies. Brill is a journalist and publisher (media hounds might remember Brill's Content magazine, which went bust with the dot coms in 2001) who has written a book about education reform called Class Warfare. Paine is the schools superintendent of the entire state of West Virginia. Both are gaining widespread attention for speaking truths about what it takes to improve public education that run counter to the conventional wisdom about school reform. Brill is an astute observer. Paine is a straight-up visionary.

Brill first. He recently published a piece in the Wall Street Journal (of all places) that is (finally!) the article I've been waiting for...

http://online.wsj.com/article/SB10001424053111903918104576500531066414112.html

Hey look! It quotes real classroom teachers! It features comments by education reform leaders that make crystal clear the pressure charter school teachers are under. It lauds the skill of one teacher even as she makes the decision to quit (mid-year no less, a particularly devastating choice), choosing her health and marriage over the job.

But most of all it stands up in a national newspaper in front of millions of readers and waves the red flag of reality for all the world to see. On this flag is emblazoned: Three million teachers. It is a reminder--evidence flapping madly in the winds of finger-pointing and union-bashing--that true change to public education needs to include everyone. No one else is really saying that. Unions are in full defensive mode. Reformers are in attack formation. Enter Steven Brill, wily pundit, with the suggestion that Mayor Bloomberg name Randi Weingarten, teachers union chief and arch villain of Waiting for Superman, as school chancellor. Brill's being a gadfly, but his point is plain to see. He says it better than I ever could:

"If they are pushed the right way, the unions can help to create educational systems that can enable and encourage ordinary teachers to work harder and more effectively—and still allow them to sit down once in a while so that they don't burn out."

This should not be the radical statement it is in the eyes of many reformers, people whom I agree with on almost every other educational issue. Helping teachers get better without frying them to a crisp can only help the kids. Harnessing a union's organizational power (not to mention influencing its membership) to support teachers as they improve is just logical. Then why can't we say it out loud? Refusing to acknowledge the reality of the public education system and the people involved is something that makes me question the integrity of the reform movement in my darker moments (when chipper I think only of the dedicated, passionate people giving 110% every single day in classrooms all over the country). If it's really about all kids, and not just the ones that win the charter school lottery, then how can it make sense not to use (or, heck, co-opt) anything you can find?

It's a bird! It's a plane! It actually IS Superman!

Dr. Steven Paine is co-opting in a different way. He's standing up and declaring that against all odds West Virginia is going to reform the heck out of their public education system and just you try and stop them. Impossible is nothing! It's a move out of the education reform playbook where hard-core "no excuses" sloganeering is the name of the game. But instead of promoting higher test scores and picking apart the unions, he's blazing a trail from Charleston to...Helsinki.

The man has clearly seen Waiting for Superman, but he's drawn different conclusions than most of its fans. If Finland (much lauded in the movie) has the best public education system in the world, then, by golly, we should make our schools more like Finland's. Thing is...hmmm...Finland has strong teachers unions. Finland doesn't use standardized test to evaluate their students or teachers, instead promoting rigorous curriculum standards. Finland schools rely on project-based learning, which focuses on critical thinking and real-world problem-solving. Okey-dokey, said Paine. Sounds great. Let's do it.

How much do you love this man?

http://www.cnn.com/2011/US/08/29/education.wv.finland/index.html

The critics started in on him right away, of course. Finland is homogeneous (code for mostly white). Finland is smaller (code for we could never scale this). Finland has a tradition of social welfare programs (code for they believe government is not actually Satan on a stick). Paine said, whatevs. If it's good enough for those pale-faced, reindeer-loving socialists, it's good enough for the children of the diverse, economically depressed, traditionally conservative state of West Virginia. And, oh btw and brace yourself--our test scores really aren't that important to us under this particular model, but teachers and students getting excited about critical thinking, solving community problems and becoming better learners, rather than burning out in ridiculously high numbers and getting embroiled in cheating scandals? Yeah, we're all for that.

So am I. So should you be.

At this point it might be legitimate to ask why I remain non-unionized teacher at a high-performing charter school. If I love unions and superintendents so much, why don't I just get a job at a regular public school and see how I like it? But for me, it's not about one type of school vs. another. It's about all types of schools getting better and better at serving all types of kids, particularly those who have not been served in the past. The education reform movement has shown us what's possible in terms of low-income, under-served students. It's no longer OK (as if it ever was) to write off those students as too "disadvantaged" learn. Because they're not.

But I'm seeing with my own eyes charter systems (a centerpiece of the reform movement) so tied (by necessity) to private funding and so wedded to test scores as the only means to win that funding (ie: beat out other schools--in many cases other charters) that they are not serving kids as well as they could. Yet the intention is there. The brains, talent, passion and drive are there. Just imagine what a high-performing charter system could do with a vision like Dr. Paine's. Now that is worth waiting for...

Enter one teacher...

I read this in July and haven't stopped thinking about it since:

http://nymag.com/news/features/michelle-rhee-2011-3/

Ideally, you've clicked over and read at least part of the article because I'm now going to talk, at length, about what it feels like to be a teacher in the current climate, which reporter Andrew Rice analyzes so well. Because this is now the millionth article I've read (not to mention the whole movie Waiting for Superman) that talks about how the teaching profession needs to be swept out like the basement of a scary Victorian asylum without once quoting an actual living, breathing classroom teacher. Not even one.

What is up with that?

Enter one teacher, one that Michelle Rhee et al would likely approve. I've never been a member of a union and teach at a high-performing charter school. By rights, I should be rallying to Rhee's cause, nodding my head vigorously as she calls for more money for charters and more attention to our model of educating low-income, under-served kids.

Instead, reading about the leaders of the eduction reform movement always makes me a little queasy. Which is weird, given that I have dedicated my career to helping fulfill their overarching goal of helping low-income, under-served students succeed in college and beyond. But witnessing this movement from the classroom, as opposed to the set of Good Morning America or a fund-raising mixer, offers a different perspective. Things come to mind. Things that our leaders seem to be missing or ignoring. Things that will affect our low-income, under-served students (the living, breathing ones we see every day). Things that tend to complicate the issue and get lost in the shuffle, but are glaringly obvious when seen from the ground. At least in this teacher's opinion. I'm sure there are countless other teacher opinions out there. Not that I (or you) would know them, given the recent media coverage.

Public education, private money

The main issue I have with the education reform movement is how it reflects a trend throughout American politics to dismantle or limit public institutions and replace them with privately run alternatives. I say "privately run" because high-performing charter schools, like the one I work for, depend on private donations to fund their programs as well as public money. Without these donations, the programs we offer would suffer tremendously. What has already started to happen is that high-performing charters are competing with each other (sometimes within the same charter network) for these limited funds. Many donors, quite naturally, want a say in how their money is spent. So far, this has not directly affected curriculum/instruction (that I know of), but it certainly has an impact on other aspects of running a school. It makes me nervous that the promises we make to children and their families are, in part, dependent on the generosity of private individuals. Many of these donors are genuinely dedicated to the cause of educational equity--and yet, unlike the government, are under no obligation to continue funding if the their circumstances or interests change.

Teachers+

This dismantling of public institutions connects to another worrisome trend Rice brought up in the article: the laser focus of the education reform movement on improving teacher quality to the exclusion of all other factors. This is a tricky one to talk about without sounding like I don't care about teacher quality (which is ridiculous) or am making excuses for bad teachers (which I'm not), so I'm going to tread lightly. This line from the article is a good place to start:

Until fairly recently, everyone took it for granted that parents, educators, and communities shared the responsibility for schooling children, and presumed that outcomes were the product of a complex web of circumstances. Now the calculus has been narrowed to a single variable, the instructors, who are offered all the credit and shoulder all the blame.

Allow me to state without reservation: excellent teachers matter. Bad teachers cause no end of harm and should be fired. No one who serves the public should be able to keep their job just because they've had it longer than someone else. All children should have the very best teachers. End of story.

AND...by directing all attention, along with a schizophrenic jumble of vilification and praise, on teachers (and teachers alone), the education reform movement allows politicians on both sides of the aisle to ignore the expensive and politically volatile "web of circumstances" that continues to affect the life outcomes of low-income students, even as their test scores rise. This mindset does not serve kids. In fact, it hurts them. I have taught students who have made tremendous gains in my classroom and others--and have still gotten pregnant, joined gangs, fallen into drugs and/or crime, left the prestigious high schools where they'd been accepted, dropped out altogether or turned down acceptances to four-year universities for community college because it was all they could afford. These students' academic lives improved enormously, but the "calculus" of success is more complicated than that. Factors like race, class, parents' education level and a host of other inequalities continue to affect the outcomes of all children in America.

It's not about making excuses for kids. It's about keeping on the radar the other factors that can limit their success and working to fix them, along with tirelessly instilling a love of learning and the skills students need to graduate from college. The strongest legacy of the education reform movement in my opinion is the fundamental belief that low-income students can perform as well as their more privileged peers. It does my students no good if I set my expectations low simply because they live in a trailer park or a housing project, as some teachers have done for years. The kids are doing that homework, writing that essay, reading that book. I look out on my classes of 6th graders and believe with all my heart that every single one of them is going to college. Yet all the beautiful paragraphs and math projects in the world will not help my students succeed in life if the larger community doesn't support them in other ways. The courage to cross race, class and language barriers and be the first in one's family to graduate from college is something that must be encouraged, even taught. Schools are doing their best, but it should also come from the community, from families, churches and other organizations. All these programs need support and funding (along with, perhaps more dauntingly, honest conversation about race and class in this country). To put it all on teachers is damaging to everyone: kids, families, teachers and even the teaching profession itself.

If I go crazy, then will you still call me Superman?

Which leads me to my last point. I talked about this a little when I wrote about the movie Waiting For Superman and a possible sequel called We Are Still Standing (or, better, If I Go Crazy Then Will You Still Call Me Superman?) The push for all schools to adopt the high-performing charter model (upheld, rightly, as something that works for a higher percentage of low-income students) and corresponding finger-pointing when unions push back fails to acknowledge the lifestyle choice working for one of these schools entails. A cornerstone of all of these networks is a "whatever it takes" attitude, which translates into 60-80/hour work weeks for teachers, significantly curtailed evening and weekend time and shorter breaks with minimal added compensation. I choose to do this, but I understand that many teachers are not in a position to do the same. This doesn't make them "welfare queens" (Have you ever heard anything more ludicrous in your entire life? I'm talking to you, Gov. Chris Christie of New Jersey). What it makes them is equally dedicated parents or caregivers or volunteers or whatever else they like to do besides work all the time. So, maybe these people shouldn't be teachers if they have other things to do. OK. Then the teaching corps of the United States would mirror the demographics of high-performing charter teachers whose average age is probably around 26, if not lower. The problem is by age 30, many of these teachers are gone (burned out or simply ready to do other things), replaced by another crop of young, energetic bodies. All perfectly fine, if you can find them. Which even the highest-performing systems are having a hard time doing. To their credit, these networks are working hard to retain teachers--but the issue still needs to be part of the public discussion. All this talk about merit pay and handing out six-figure salaries also needs a little scrutiny turned its way. It sounds great on a talk show, but somehow these perks always fail to materialize in the funding realities mentioned above.

If I ruled the world...

This is what I wish would happen. The leaders of the education reform movement have all eyes on them at this moment in history, thanks to the genuine success of high-performing charters, programs like Teach for America and education research that prove beyond a question of a doubt that low-income students can make dramatic, life-changing academic gains with the support of passionately dedicated teachers. Now, I wish they'd seize this historic moment and instead of sharing the stage with the most virulently anti-union Republican governors, join forces with organizations that support students, challenge funding decisions at all levels that gut public education or harm low-income families in any way (or stop talking about not "throwing kids under the bus." Vulnerable kids and families are unfortunately in the direct path of many buses and teachers unions are frankly the least of them), and demand that teacher quality improve without demonizing teachers themselves. Surely this is possible. If even Michelle Rhee says 5-10% of public school teachers are dragging down the system that means 90-95% of us are doing our jobs well and/or are willing to improve. This is not a crisis; this is an amazing opportunity.

Where is the headline about that?

A perspective on gay history in a park with a view

I spent the afternoon of July 3 in Dolores Park, two city blocks of sloping green grass dotted with palm trees and blessed with a stunning view of downtown San Francisco. My girlfriend Anna and I, along with a large chunk of the population of the Mission and Castro neighborhoods, were soaking up the summer sunshine on one of those all-too-rare city days when it's possible to leave the house in just shorts and a tank top. (True!)

As we contemplated the Berkeley Hills and perfect triangle of Mt. Diablo's distant summit (beautifully visible on such a clear day), I overheard a guy making a call on the next blanket over. He was directing his friends to the location of his picnic. "I'm up the hill a little ways, sort of to the right...you know, on the gay side," he said and clicked off the call. (The picture above is from Google; imagine more people--and more skin--to get a sense of the scene last Sunday.)

He was right, of course. The side of Dolores Park where we lounged was absolutely packed with fellow homos, most of them men cavorting (no better verb) in their swim trunks or underwear in the hot sun. (There were, in fact, a startling number of guys in their drawers, along with less startling coolers full of chilled wine, champagne, beer and snacks. We even saw one boy deliver a plate of Jello to the blanket next door). Such a display is nothing unusual for a summer Sunday in San Francisco in 2011. The city is special in this respect, but I have witnessed similar park scenes (albeit without quite so many exposed undies) in other cities from New York to Chicago to Austin. We're here, we're queer, we like hanging around in parks. And everyone, it seems, is more or less used to it.

Such a casual display of freedom made me think of E.M. Forster, who wrote A Room with a View, Howard's End, and other books that were best sellers in his lifetime and classic Merchant Ivory films in ours. I recently finished his latest biography, A Great Unrecorded History: A New Life of E.M. Forster by Wendy Moffat, a professor at Dickinson College and amazingly lucid biographer. In an unusual move, she examines Forster's life and work through the lens of his gayness, specifically the double life he was forced to lead as a British gay man in the 1910s-60s. It's fascinating and compelling choice. Of course, no biographer could ignore Forster's homosexuality, especially in light of the posthumously published Maurice (the first gay-themed novel with a happy ending), but Moffat chooses to make it the centerpiece, drawing explicit connections between the oppressive constraints of middle-class propriety at the heart of Forster's novels and his life in the closet. What emerges from the journal entries and heaps of letters (what will future biographers do now that no one writes actual letters anymore?) is a portrait of a brilliant, successful novelist and academic who, nonetheless, felt utterly hobbled as a writer by the homophobia of the time. Maurice is just the most famous of his gay-themed pieces that he never expected to be able to publish. Though he died at age 91 in 1970, the year after the Stonewall riots in New York sparked the gay rights movement, Forster believed throughout his life that gay men and women would always be reviled and despised by the majority population.

It makes me want to go back in time, grab Forster (tweed suit and all) and show him Dolores Park on a sunny day. Or buy him a rainbow flag and take him to any of the corporate-sponsored gay pride parades that took place nationwide a few weeks ago to widespread and chipper news coverage. He would be more than a little amazed. Even after a lifetime of intricate plots and memorable characters, Forster at his most creative could not fathom the world we take for granted every day.

This is not to say coming out of the closet has become angst-free. We still have a ways to go. But reading about Forster's life has given me a renewed appreciation for the milestones that have occurred and optimism about those still to come. It's easy to throw up one's hands at anti-marriage bills fueled by the religious right's persistent squawking, but Forster's story provides a peek into a truly great (and thankfully now recorded) gay history...and shows how much progress has truly been made.