Industrial Life

The rhythm of the world is not
the rhythm of the heart.
The heart does not break its beats
into pieces,
slicing its day into bite-sized chunks
only to have no knowledge
when the new day starts
where the old day has gone to.

Blatant racism, latent racism, and one-issue voting

As the actions of the Trump administration become increasingly disturbing, I'm put in mind of three categories of voters and their roles in this new reality: blatant racists, latent racists/xenophobes, and one-issue voters.

Blatant racists: I hope and believe that this is truly a small group of Americans. Unfortunately, though, (as Aziz Ansari pointed out) they are empowered and emboldened by Trump's election. Somehow they feel they can be openly racist now. I'm just certain that when I was a kid in the 80s and 90s you could not claim free speech to protect your bigotry. I remember ass-kickings and threatened ass-kickings for the white boys who dared to repeat what dad or grandpa was saying at home. It was just clear: you don't say racist things. Whether that was a real or imagined reality, it's one worth pursuing.

Latent racists and xenophobes: Another small group, but closely tied to the one-issue voters. These are the white folks who aren't loudly or actively racist, but because of a lack of diversity in their world they generally distrust other cultures and races (definition of xenophobia) and won't get riled up as a result of Trump's ban on Muslims or racial injustice in our nation. If it doesn't hurt them, they don't really care. On the flip side, if it does hurt them (ie jobs in WV or PA) they don't mind policies that hurt others if they think they'll get something (jobs) out of it. They're selfish and misguided, but arguably not actively hateful. That leads us to the largest, and most shameful category.

One-issue voters: No matter what other negative outcomes may be possible, the only thing that these voters care about is their one issue. As far as I can tell, the biggest group are the anti-choice abortion protestors. The funny things is that the vast majority of the anti-choice bloc claim to be Christians*. Yet, they abandon all of the other teachings of Jesus Christ in order to perseverate on poetic descriptions of YHWH's love for humanity (Jer. 1:5; Psalm 139:13). These voters don't care that their candidates abandon the poor, addicts, refugees, the elderly, widows/widowers, veterans, children (students), the sick, minority groups, and immigrants; all of these being things that Jesus Christ directly addressed. Hypocrisy runs deep. These are the voters who are to blame for the fascism that is on our doorstep today.

What's strange, is that despite the steady decrease of abortions since Roe V. Wade, they fail to see that policies which improve the plight of all of these groups would reduce the need for medically-unnecessary abortions because it would address the desperation that often accompanies unplanned pregnancy. Not to mention the ridiculous notion that birth-control interferes with God's plan.

So, thank you, one-issue voters for sacrificing our good name as human beings on the altar of your piety. As convicted as you are, you've gotten it very, very wrong.



*It is important to note that there are perhaps as many as 40,000 separate organizations identifying themselves as Christian denominations. Some organizations represent different bodies with shared beliefs, while the full spectrum of doctrine runs the gamut. So logically, though the voting bloc I'm critiquing largely identifies as Christian, it should not be perceived that all Christians hold these beliefs.

Dreams and realities

I've dreamed my whole life of running for elected office.

In late-November 2016, when discussing the possibility of making this dream a reality, I was advised to "clean up" my social media presence. The advice (well-intentioned and sound) was not directed toward covering up my benders or morally questionable photo ops, but toward softening my liberalness for the south-central Kansas audience whose votes I would need.

I've been sitting with this advice ever since. I've even sat down a couple of times to assess what a "clean up" might look like and entail.

Ultimately, I've come to the conclusion that I'm very proud of my progressive, liberal values. I've arrived at them over a very long--still winding--road, and for very specific reasons. So, whatever it means for my dream of holding elected office (and with respect to those who do choose to moderate their positions), I'm not going to soften my stance on the things in which I believe, and I'm not going to keep quiet when I could be speaking up. If it means that I find other ways to affect change, then so be it. There are many roles to play in society, and the older I get the less desperate I am for the roles that traditionally bring the spotlight with them.

I'm lucky to be surrounded by people who make this world a better place every day through small and unceremonious actions. Whatever my role(s) may be, I'm proud to believe that a more generous, more accepting world is a goal worth working toward. I believe that I'm on the gentler side of the issues.

#justiceforall
#blacklivesmatter
#thisiswhyimarch
#upwithpeople

Control

Whenever I feel exasperated about my inability to control others' actions, I remind myself that the need for control is a fear-based response. The thing to do, in that moment, is to ask, "What am I afraid of?"

As likely as not, I cannot exert any force against the actualization of my fear. In other words, I cannot change what is.

I try, in each moment, to be aware of my fears and discomforts--to recognize them, acknowledge them, and to follow where they lead, knowing that I have no control.

And yet, if we spread love or spread hate, perhaps we do have some control over our world after all...

Killing in the name of

The screenshot above is a conversation I had recently on Twitter. It began with an article posted by NPR reporter Renee Montagne discussing whether or not women are suitable for combat roles. As I considered the role of women in combat, it occurred to me that no one is suitable for combat roles. This is why we struggle with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, veteran homelessness, veteran addiction, veteran suicide, veteran divorce and, I would not be surprised to find out, other ailments with which I am unfamiliar.

Killing and combat have become unnatural. We have evolved beyond their necessity.

Why do we continue to do this? Why does the (I assume) man responding with the @EVEbestofus account hold so dearly to his hope that combat will always be necessary? Why does he label my wish for peace "incredibly naive?" Why do we cling so tight to a race, a nationality, a religion, a dogma that we are willing to kill in its defense, or in its offense? What is it that makes us need to be "better" in some way?

Obviously, the answer is complicated. I do, however, see one common thread that I think plays a large role: greed. Our greed for so many things drives our desires. Our attachments keep us from settling, keep us from knowing what is "enough." Greed takes many forms and has many foci: money, power, influence, sex, and perhaps innumerable others. All of these things create a false duality of competition against one another. There are those things of which we want more, and there are those people who are in our way. Sometimes, it's ourselves.

I can't pretend to know what motivates the man behind @EVEbestofus. I only know what he's told me. He has told me that he believes we will always have to fight. I fear he may be right. Evil is aggressive. Evil is always willing to force its way where peace will not. That certainly seems to be an advantage for evil things.

But, as always, who's to say what is evil? I wonder if @EVEbestofus is willing to discuss the possibility that America has committed evil, and thus created its own evil nemeses? Haven't all societies?

I paraphrased an arguably great American statesman to @EVEbestofus, hoping to draw common, American ground. Robert Kennedy (the greatest Kennedy in my mind, for all his faults) said, "There are those that look at things the way they are, and ask 'Why?' I dream of things that never were, and ask 'Why not?'" @EVEbestofus wished me luck in my dreamland, while he and the other warriors "handle things."

I wonder, what if peace were achieved? Would @EVEbestofus and the other warriors let it be? How would they handle a world that didn't need them? That had evolved beyond them? What greed would drive them? What role could they play in a peaceful society?

For my foible, I am naturally greedy for affirmation. It is an outcome of this life I've lived. I am actively wrestling to manage that greed (which makes this blog somewhat of an oxymoron for me). I sometimes think that I'd like to replace it with a greed for peace and human harmony. But I realize that it is a greedy mind that creates war and disharmony. Given the chance, what evils would my greed commit for the sake of my goal? If I could achieve peace and harmony with a dozen or so well-placed assassinations, wouldn't I do it? And wouldn't it be worth it? Peace, at what cost? There is so much truth when J.R.R. Tolkien gives the wizard Gandalf the foresight to turn down the One Ring, knowing that anything evil at its core cannot beget good. Thus is it ever with greed.

Evil must be pulled out at the root. Evil by whose definition? And how does one peacefully purge it?

I must work to recognize my own greed, and to master it. I hope others will do the same. The road to peace is perhaps only paved one mind at a time.

A (mostly) final reflection on what I've learned during Graduate School.

*Excerpted from the final personal reflection required of my MSE/Licensure program

I learned to read at 4 years old, skipped the 2nd grade, tested into the gifted program, and was the apple of my schizophrenic mother’s eye. As my home life worsened, my grades dropped until I was failing almost all of my classes by the 6th grade. I was then dropped from the gifted program, which set my confidence spinning and took me years to get over (if I have at all). I went from being “very smart” to being “very stupid.”  

I knew I wanted to change my trajectory in high school, and worked very hard to do so. Lacking sufficient home support, though, I was only able to manage a 2.5 GPA, which was much less than I might have had. I failed out of college on the first try, again the victim of a lack of study skills and confidence. Over the years, I have fought back, having to be admitted on probation for every degree I’ve pursued (BA in History, most of an MPA before deciding to become a teacher, and now my MSE). I know what it’s like to feel stupid, and I’m determined that I will not allow a student’s classroom performance to affect my love for them. 

Last year, I had a difficult time talking to my students in ways that they could understand. This year I have become much more adept at working where they are. An old version of me laments this “dumbing down” of what I have worked so hard to achieve, but an even deeper version of me is driving me onward, never losing touch with how important it is to show respect to the disrespected, and hope to the hopeless. Unfortunately, I do not believe that those terms are hyperbolic when they describe the experiences of many of my students’ educational journeys.

I’m not much for “callings,” or any other religious-style description of how our lives play out. I think, however, that I am beginning to understand what people are feeling when they say those things. I have never been challenged as I have been these two years; and I’ve never wanted so much to be good. Working to wear this “hat” has improved the fit of my other hats: parent; husband; community member. What I have the potential to be is well-suited to the name “educator.”

I do not believe the journey ever ends. I do not believe that learning ever ends. I am not interested in taking up a position on the way. I am not interested in being “finished.” My experience has shown me that, at 38, I laugh at my 35-year-old self. In turn, that self laughs at my many other selves as I look backward down the road. The backward gaze only lasts long enough, however, to be reminded that the way is forward, and there is always much to learn. 

Living into a new identity

I was just interrupted in my pursuit of homework, hoop-jumping, and lesson-planning by the loud whooping of young children in my front yard. I looked out and saw two young boys and a girl, all around 7ish years old, staring intently under the culvert next to my house, one with a hammer in hand...

These ducks live in that culvert, and likely have a nest nearby. Being fond of them, the hammer made me a little uneasy so I threw on a sweatshirt and walked outside. As I stepped outside, hammer-boy launched his missile toward "my" mallard. My body got a shot of adrenaline and my heart went up to my throat. Somewhere inside of me, Hulk raged to get out and tear those kids a new one, verbally or otherwise.

But I'm working to be a better me all the time. "Hulk" is a long ways in my past, but "asshole" is a little closer to the surface. But I credit my experience and knowledge teaching with what happened next.

"HEY." This was my manliest, firmest teacher voice. They all stopped dead in their tracks and stood at attention. They remained still as I covered the 100 feet between them and me, seriously but not threateningly keeping my eyes on them. I stopped about 10 feet short of them.

"Hey guys, those ducks live around here and they've got a nest that's going to have babies soon. If you kill those ducks with that hammer, those babies won't have any parents to take care of them." This was my quiet, focused, "you just fucked up bad, but I still love you" teacher voice.

Their expressions changed from Lord of the Flies to cute-and-cuddly, we-love-baby-animals.

"You guys don't want that do you?" "No!"

Now I'm smiling. Where do you guys live? What are you doing with that dead rabbit carcass (mmm hmmm)? Do you know what kinds of animals might want to eat that? Etc.

They waved goodbye and ran off to their house, heads, pride, and tears intact. They're just kids. They just needed a helping hand in the right direction. Yeah, I'm tootin' my own horn. I'm proud of myself. Because I. Was. Pissed. :)

Now, I'm sitting here wondering if a dad will come shoot me. Thanks, Brownback.

Homework. Hoops. Lesson plans. 21 days until I'm a Master of Education. On paper anyway.

Work

I have a particular way I do most things. I get a little bit of insight to something, then I think and fold and sift and knead and turn over in my head, sometimes for extended periods of time. I've been engaged in this organizing process with Buddhism for some time...and with religion for far-longer. 

I was brought up short a couple of years ago when a revered Buddhist, Thich Nat Hanh, wrote in his book Living Buddha, Living Christ, “I always encourage them to practice in a way that will help them go back to their own tradition and get re-rooted. If they succeed at at becoming reintegrated, they will be an important instrument in transforming and renewing their tradition." Here I had been looking for an escape from Christianity, and the revered teacher to whom I was looking for a path told me to go back. That's what I've been sifting for awhile. I recently came to the conclusion that his advice is good, but I'm not quite going to take it.

First, I feel quite well-rooted in my home tradition of Christianity. (I'm not going to back up that argument in this space, but a fireside chat and drink on the topic are always welcome.) Knowing what I know, I'm very confident in saying that it doesn't work for me. It doesn't add up, and I just see evidence neither for the verifiable existence of the God of Abraham, nor certainly of the complicated treatise that was the mission of Jesus Christ. I'm working very hard for my separation from Christianity to be amicable, because I believe it would be wrong to show disrespect to Christian believers.

Secondly, I see in Thich Nat Hanh's advice a call to "know where you come from." In my mind, this means to always search for the bias, for the conditioning and assumptions that exist in my mind and heart based on my roots. This happens to be a type of reflection that I have gotten very good at over the years while trying to make my way. This skill has been particularly painful, useful, and honed during my almost two years now as a teacher. I am deep in the process of trying to achieve mindfulness and control over my ego and emotion.

The quote at the top took my breath away when I read it today in the book Entering the Stream: An Introduction to the Buddha and his Teachings. It's actually from the teachings of the Buddha, but was quoted in the manuscript.

You have to do your own work. Those who have reached the goal will only show the way.

This captures not only my life, but my philosophy on "doing" life. 

I feel there is something for me on this road of exploration, in this new recipe that I'm learning. It just makes sense. I still feel silly, though, saying it out loud.

Grace

When I consider the Christian doctrine of God's grace for our sinful nature, I consider the state of this world. I find I believe that any loving God is as much in need of our grace as we of God's.

I concentrate on acknowledging, and releasing, the anger that awakens inside me, toward that God.

Middle School

Butterfinger candy bars taste like middle school to me. Specifically, they taste like middle school spring: that time when you can feel that it's getting warmer and the smell of green is in the air. Butterfingers are also a way that I find teaching middle school makes me subtly work through issues or memories that are 25 or more years old. Finding myself in a middle school setting these last 18 months, I have been surprised to find how often I have to put the brakes on a middle school mindset. I've written about that at length in another post.

Candy bars, however, conjure a memory and a mindset I don't mind. Not one bit.

Catching up

It really does get easier the second time you do something. Not easier...better.

I'm still often exhausted, and there isn't enough of me to go around, but it's better than last year. When I need perspective, I can just look to my overwhelmed, tired wife, and know that I'm in a better place than I was...and than she is (not to rub it in).

At this point, I think I have so much to say that I can almost say nothing. I'd like to start chipping away at those things, but no promises.

For now, despite it still being hard, it's better.

Hacking away at thoughts

I'm 36. This fall I feel a little bit like the grown up. I've had kids for 13 years. Sorry kids.

At the same time, my greatest success as a teacher and parent has come from letting go of "being the grown up."

These ideas that ancient traditions discuss, there's reality there.

Pride born out of brokenness is one of the major problems in our world.

The only way to win a war is to kill all of your enemies. All of them. This is the biggest reason they shouldn't be fought.

In Star Trek, do people on earth all get along as a result of having formed an planetary identity as humans?

Holidays are hard for me. I'm starting to learn this. I don't understand how people are supposed to enjoy each other. This is a mountain I need to climb.

There are 14,000 ft peaks to conquer in the minds of our children. Depths to dive into in their hearts. Many, many children are lacking good love in their lives.

Life is sweet, in spite of the misery.

I do not understand affiliations. I do not understand allegiances to faith, race, culture, ethnicity, etc., etc...

I often hope that I'll know when it's my time to die. I hope that I'll be old. I hope that I'll have the opportunity to just walk into Yosemite and die in the arms of the earth. I hope my children will understand.

I should be doing homework and grading right now. I'm drinking a beer instead.

I've learned about 300 new names in the last 4 months. That's not an exaggeration.

I really do want to record an album.

Pressure. Next. Pressure. Next.

I enjoy myself most when I can be very present in a moment. I enjoy myself most when I sit down with a child and teach them something.

I've been told to confess that it's going well.

That's a whole different kind of pressure. If it's going well, then better is...well...even better.

Early in the year I was chanting the mantra, "Everything is not this moment."

Now I find myself wishing I could really be present in all of the moments that are happening in my room.

I learned on Tuesday, during New Teacher Induction, that pain is relative and irrelative at the same time. Relative to the guy I met with 36 kids in a room smaller than mine, 30% of whom don't want to work, I've got it really good. Relative to the really good classrooms, I'm underwater.

“You wouldn't worry so much about what others think of you if you realized how seldom they do.”

― Eleanor Roosevelt

First quarter done

I just finished my first quarter teaching. It looked like this.

1st Quarter Data:

• 1.5 12oz bottles of hand sanitizer
• 54 pencils
• 100 sheets of notebook paper
• 5:30 am wake-up time
• Gallons and gallons of water
• at least 1 dozen observations with feedback
• 8 graduate school assignments
• 1/2 a box of copy paper
• 4 different table arrangements

Everything else I lost track of.

Little kids

Teaching middle school, I feel myself wrestling with middle school feelings that I didn't really know about before.

I really believed that I didn't care what people thought of me.

Standing in front of my classroom, I have to squelch the desire to be liked by the cool, powerful kids. I have to quiet my laughter at the awkward kids. I have to come to terms with my need to be cool, myself.

I am surprised by this reality, and humbled by my own humanity.

Automatic for the People

Tonight I'm wondering about the sweet spot between depth and efficiency.


So much to learn, so many to teach at one time. In a learning factory.

At the end of every day I get a pit in my stomach for the moments I didn't give love. For the moments I wasn't gentle with the little and big kinds of broken that I encounter every day.

Give love. Which requires stopping.

To my hero

Dear Megan,

Meditate on all you've done.

Take a breath. Get through this moment. You can do anything.

Meditate on all you've done.

You helped a boy mature into a man who can love with a healthy passion instead of dysfunction.
You helped turn a surprise into a loving family.
You finished your college degree while battling difficult depression.
You fought hard to overcome your postpartum, life-change-induced depression.
You worked hard to become a teacher when you'd had no training.
You held your head high and gave love in a time of dying.
You are a loving, giving daughter.
You fought through six months of painful baby croup and crying with love.
You care for the creation of a young woman, and a young man.
You jump in.
You make it happen.
You build things.
You build people.
You build relationships.
You do.
You are dignity.
You are elegance.
You are class.

Things seem hard. They've seemed hard before. You did it then. You'll do it now.

You're my hero.

Hold your head up, you silly girl. Look what you've done.

http://youtu.be/-SbCIFbJQDk

Do the Evolution

The part of teacher evolution I'm thinking about today, as I prepare to walk in to my first set of P/T conferences, is spatial ownership.

There's this space that I occupy at my school every day. Its number is assigned to me. All of the students who share the space during the day are assigned to me.

About six weeks ago, I blindly, frantically shaped this space in to a "classroom." In the time since then I've added to and taken from the space, both physically and emotionally.

Today, I feel like I belong in this space.

Today, I feel some ownership.

Today, this space is mine.

It's not a conquest, and it's not a hostile takeover.

It's an evolution. It's the propagation of helpful adaptations, and the annulment of old ways. It's the creation of a new being, in a new habitat.

I am evolving. One way I know this to be true is the way that my new home is starting to look, smell, feel, and live to me. I'm learning the ecosystem: both the local and the regional. I'm caring for it, and it is caring for me.

In addition, today I figured out a conversation that has been happening around me, but of which I was not a part. I figured out feelings and responses from my teammates about having three brand new teachers on a team of 12.

This was important not because of the knowledge it imparted (ok, that too), but because of the familiarity of that discovery. Gauging and understanding subtext and unspoken norms are things I'm good at. It was nice to feel that familiar warmth of understanding; nice to put knowledge in my pocket.

They say I'll slip back down this mountain more than once before next August.

So let it be written.


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aDaOgu2CQtI

Just keep swimming

Hm.

Had a sub for the first time Friday. Monday was no big deal.

First parent-teacher conferences tomorrow. I'm a little nervous.

Taking 45 minutes of my night and listening to Elton John on Fresh Air. This is a little peace of terra firma for me.

Winfield happened. It was good.

Something is happening inside my brain and my heart. Something is growing.

I'm different, I'm told. I think I know this to be true.

One thing that's different is stress.

Stress is because I care about what's happening during my days.

Something is growing.

What's new? It's always new.

What's new?

It will be August of 2014 before I am consistently doing things that are not "firsts."

I have a very supportive principal who is willing to be tough on me, shoot straight, and push me to be better. And who texts after she's been out of the building to ask how new strategies worked out for me. That feels good.

I love many of my co-workers.

I can see the line between firm and mean from where I stood today. It was a sight for sore eyes. ("Site for sore eyes," which I almost typed, would work too. And it's more fun to imagine.)

I love teaching about history. I love talking about current events.

Tomorrow is the anniversary of 9/11. I have at least 1 Muslim student, whom I love dearly. Today my students asked me, almost every hour, what were were going to talk about for 9/11. When I talked about this with them, I thought I was going to cry.

I told them the stories of two of the worst moments in my life: watching the towers burn with my 1-year-old child playing in front of the TV, and watching the Challenger explode as a 3rd grader. I told them that bad things happen. I told them that we still had learning to do. I told them that evil people aren't representative of their race or creed or gender or religion. I told them that we shouldn't stop the world to remember the time that crazy people did crazy things. I thought I would cry. It was the ethos I dreamed of imparting.

When my children and my world ask me the question, "Did I do all that I could? That I should have done?" I pray that the answer will be yes.

And I look forward to the day that I'm not running scared so that more of my moments are teaching and fewer are scrambling.

If that day is a myth, please don't tell me until next August.