Tagged: school
Passing Tests: A Primer On Purpose
Certain unpleasant circumstances (whose ultimate superficiality are yet to be determined) have led to me taking back full control of my step-son’s education. Long story short, I had it once, lost it in hopes of marital bliss, and have now taken it back. The long game is back in view—marriage be damned.
He’s newly 14. And he does not think. “But I repeat myself,” by Twain applies here.
Pilots take many, many tests. Merely to become a pilot requires passing many tests. It stands to reason, then, that as a group, we pilots know a thing or two about passing tests. Relatedly, we know a thing or two about the skill of memorizing information. One example, before returning to the step-son bit, of these test-taking skills conveniently aligned to memory skills is when taking a multiple choice test, there is a general rule, “too long to be wrong.” Get it? If three of the four answers are tremendously shorter than the other, it is more than likely (but don’t blindly skip reading the long one—always read in full the answer you select) that the test creator did not suddenly choose to waste their time by typing out an unnecessarily long wrong answer. Take away from this tip that we pilots (among other test taking masters) put to use other factors than content when viewing a test. Think of it like the self-defense advice to not forget about all available ways to use your surroundings during attacks etc.
One task that I have my step-son accomplishing each day, then, is reading from the classics (currently on The Apology of Socrates) one paragraph at a time and writing as brief as possible an abstract of the paragraph. This is not easy—and that’s the point.
We skipped chatting about Tuesday’s and so yesterday we had to cover two paragraph’s worth. Both attempts were unsatisfactory (he seemed to have skipped reading in favor of using some commentary I had previously provided to accomplish the summaries—which I take as evidence that his culture’s ignorant and unfortunate reliance on oral tradition still outweighs his reading level). This was disappointing, but that’s okay—the process is half the point.
But then there was one of those moments which make ya lose all hope. As I tried to grease the wheels a bit for the next day (I had read ahead), I said something like, “So as you do tomorrow’s paragraph, keep in mind that yesterday’s had Socrates dealing with politicians, then today’s had him dealing with poets-” I was suddenly interrupted by a boastful, “-Yeah, tomorrow’s is a short paragraph.”
Hmm.
At least he knows what a paragraph is?
As evidenced in “too long to be wrong” and throwing office chairs at gunmen, he’s not wrong in hoping to draw a connection between paragraph length and difficulty of meaning. But he clearly stopped listening at “tomorrow’s paragraph”.
In the end, this whole experience of family and children seems to be an experiment on “purpose”. My revised hypothesis today is, “If there is no purpose, then there can be no test.” This updates what I now see as the laudable—but I’m suspecting will prove to be merely laughable—claim to “teach kids to think”.
Where does purpose originate? Easy: the living god. But who knows his ways?
Onward!
Teacher Emails in 2024: Grandparents Don’t Know, But Now You Do
It was Facebook, yes? That was the first hegemonic message board of the internet? Some college kids using the latest radio to communicate—and it was free in the main sense?
Twenty-odd years later, college kids (now called teachers) use apps, like “ParentSquare” or “Gradelink” and there are others, I’m sure, to deliver messages to parents. Keep in mind, when we were kids, parents would hear directly from teachers a total of “near never”. Seriously. When did any of your teachers speak directly with your mom or dad? Parent teacher conferences offered an opportunity for the conversation to take place, but the parents had to show up. Some did, some did not. No big thing.
In 2024, teachers, at least two a day, post updates on these apps. Read that again. I’m telling you that on average two teachers each write messages to parents each and every day. The number of messages is staggering. By my thinking, the only parallel to draw is when someone that is lying talks on and on. Total time and energy spent creating and communicating the lie far outweighs whatever the lie is meant to conceal. But the words keep pouring out.
Let’s get to it. Here is the doozy that I received yesterday. (Nothing has been redacted—I wanted you to have the authentic experience.)
****
Quality of Play for Upper Division – Please talk with your student
Good afternoon Families,
Upper Division Teachers are asking for parents to have conversations with students early in this week about PLAY. Research and observations supports the value in play for learning, growth, and development. Both structured play (like organizing teams to play a soccer game, or run a game like 4-square, or playing UNO) and unstructured play (students imagining scenarios and acting out stories of their making with peers) are incredibly valuable experinences in growth and development.
Teachers have noticed recently that some of the unstructured play students in which small groups of students are participating in at recess sometimes resemble their video gaming or media experiences. Some of the things we have observed recently involve pretend armies, weapons (swords, light sabers, guns), and while we understand that students may have different permissions and levels of supervision at home while playing these types of games, we are discouraging the expression of these games at school to ensure the actual safety and the protect the perception of safety of everyone in our school community.
Because we are an open campus and we are purposefully structuring our space and day for multi-age academic and social groupings, it is important that Upper Division students remember to code-switch, or filter their words and behaviors at school. We are an academic workplace where the focus is on learning. Quality play is necessary, but not sufficient, for learning.
As part of our focus on Leadership, we would ask that you remind your students that while we are mindful of their interests and want them to enjoy thier play times, we will ask them to modify or change their play if is seems inappropriate. We would like this discussion to continue, so please also talk to students about how to respond to adults who interrupt their play if it seems unsafe, disrespectful, or unkind for our K-8 school community. While they are encouraged to challenge the process and enable others to action, a positive tone of voice and body language that indicates respect is necessary for success when negotiating with adults about code-switching. Modifying their play to be appropriate for the place and space is a non-negotiable part of our Social Contract.
Our Upper Division students are charismatic leaders who make a difference in the lives of their peers and teachers. We are all so glad to get to work with them every day and we are grateful that you share them with us. Please let us know if you have questions or concerns. And thank you for your active partnership in raising them to be caring and thoughtful individuals.
Thanks!
Upper Division Team
****
I have read and re-read this manifesto many times, too many times.
In an English 101 course I enrolled in around 2013 at UCDenver, I learned the term “Discourse Community”. That is what you can call places like Starbucks and their odd size names. (Grande etc). Discourse communities occur everywhere and for many reasons—nearly zero of the reasons being nefarious.
Again, like my Report Cards in 2024 post, the trouble here is the teachers clearly know better. The writer of this email cannot be incompetent. The grammar is fine (subject-verb disagreement in second sentence and only one misspelling “thier” after the bold para). The flow is also fine (though a bit unaware of itself to be “good”). And most importantly, the entire message is focused and captured by the subject line. In other words, no one hijacked anything. It wasn’t a passive-aggressive, “Read Here How Great Your Child Is”, when the content is really saying, “They’re horrible and it’s your fault—do something.” Nope, it is focused and singular. These are rarities in 2024.
The problems, instead, are fourteen-fold and listed below for clarity:
1. What is “Quality of Play”?
2. What is “Upper Division”?
3. Why is “PLAY” capitalized?
4. No sources are provided for “Research and Observations”.
5. Did you just define “structured” and “unstructured”?
6. By “small groups” do you mean A. Only a few bad apples or B. Every time a small group forms? Follow-up: If “A”, what does research and observation show regarding putting everyone on blast, instead of using a “praise in public, criticize in private” type posture?
7. Do you look at my student’s browser or device history? Are you monitoring what we watch together (or separately) in our home? How would you know what their media experiences include?
8. What is an “open campus”?
9. What does “code-switch” mean?
10. Is “filter their words and behaviors” any different than “think”? If not, isn’t that more your role than mine?
11. Is, “Quality play is necessary, but not sufficient,” a threat to take away recess? Sub-question, why is “play” here not capitalized?
12. What does, “challenge the process and enable others to action,” mean?
13. You wrote, “Our Upper Division students are charismatic leaders who make a difference in the lives of their peers and teachers.” Is that different from saying, “These kids attend school in America in 2024”?
14. Finally, how would you distinguish an “active partnership” from a “partnership”?
In the end, why is there a “discourse community” for the parent/teacher relationship? Why? I don’t want the relationship in the first place, because in the first place it hides the teacher’s (possible) failure—nothing more. And in the second place, I do not have the time for it. This post took over an hour. Who has that much time each day? Certainly not teachers. Definitely no one but me.
Let’s stop wasting time, no? Is there anyone against that?
On Emails from Teachers and Administrators
It immediately pleased me when I learned that Tolstoy’s epic “War and Peace” was initially released as a serial in the newspaper or equivalent. The book is so daunting in size (nearly one thousand pages) that I always wondered how any mortal chose to begin it—especially back then.
But wow. If you can start it, it will change your life.
It is fair to say that Leo Tolstoy, the greatest novelist, has been replaced by the words of teachers and administrators.
Is anyone else receiving epic and asinine emails from their child’s teachers and administrators? The vanity involved in this exchange is without equal.
People who have demonstrably no writing skill whatsoever (wouldn’t even consider claiming they do) are bludgeoning parents on the head—as if being a parent needs anymore discouragement—with well-meaning, lists of demands.
Just today I received a 300-word message which amounted to, “Stop communicating to us about our weather decision. We get it.”
Earlier today, 416-words from a drama teacher.
Even earlier today, 40 word fundraiser. 166 word weather decision.
Last night, 463 words about the fact that a weather decision may need to be made.
Each email demanded something from me. Contrast this with how Tolstoy’s words give something to me.
Teachers, administrators: you already have my kid. What else do you want?
You want my time? You want my attention?
Sorry. Not gonna happen. You wasted my time throughout childhood. Not gonna fool me again.
I’m Twelve. And I Believe Exile is Worse than Death.
My wife responds to my news, with barefaced contempt, “Because he’s black?”
“No. I didn’t say he brought the gun to school because ‘he’s black’. He did it because he’s stupid,” I clarified. “The reason I said he is black is because your son thinks all things black are right and cool, which itself is stupid, but the main point is I want to know what your son, A-, has told you about it. Because it is important that he agrees with me that this kid did something truly stupid.”
“He told me it was stupid.”
“Really?” I wondered, in blunt disbelief.
****
“Hey. How come you didn’t tell me about W- bringing the gun to school?” I asked A- nonchalantly as we drove home from school ball.
“I don’t know.”
“Well, what do you think?”
“I don’t understand why he would be expelled for bringing it.”
“Did you mention it to your mom?”
“On Monday I told her about it, but I thought it was a toy gun then.”
“Did you ever use the word ‘stupid’?”
“I may have said that I thought it was stupid that he was in so much trouble.”
“Okay,” I said. (I knew the boy would not react, ‘W- did something stupid.’ Check.) Then I took a father’s breath. “Here’s the thing. The most famous school shooting happened when I was a senior in high school. That’s over twenty years ago. And they have been happening regularly since then. For someone to bring any kind of gun to school at this point is absolutely, totally, and irredeemably stupid. Understand? Guns destroy. School, in theory, is about creation. The two will never mix. He was stupid. Or his decision was stupid. I don’t really know him.”
“Okay.”
****
“Well,” I answered my own 12 year old, H-, that night on FaceTime, “one of A-’s teammates brought, like, a bb gun to school. He’s probably gonna be expelled. So that’s causing some drama amongst the kids.”
“Expelled!!”
“Why is this shocking?”
“I can see suspended, but expelled? From the entire district?”
Drawing enough air to fill a sermon, “Guns kill people. Kids have been killing people in schools for twenty years now. What are we even debating, my daughter? So what if the kid has to go to another school. His parents maybe should be forced to move and try to live another way somewhere else. What they’re doing so far has failed. No person alive can suggest that ‘they didn’t know’ to NOT bring a weapon to school. How are we even talking about this, H-?”
“Okay, geez.”
“Tell me that your father thinks it is absolutely stupid to bring a gun to school and that it is absolutely fair to expel a kid who does.”
“You think-”
“-No, say, ‘my father’,”
Oh, the glare.
“My father thinks it is stupid to bring a gun to school and fair to expel anyone who does.”
“Good.”
****
Please, dear reader, lament with me. You already know how much I loathe public school. To hear that both my not-so-bright step-son and my I’d-like-to-believe-has-paid-attention-at-least-once-in-while daughter believe that expulsion or exile from the community is worse than being killed by a school shooter only feeds the fire.
Education is supposed to liberate, not indoctrinate. It’s supposed to turn the brain on, not off. Create, not conform.
Choose life, kids. Especially if it means alone.
People are stupid.
Public Schools Must Be Abolished
Just a quick note on a recurring theme.
If you don’t have school-age children, then here’s what you’re missing.
Every Friday the administration sends out several “wrap-up”, “week in review” emails, themselves containing links to more content. I read like lightning, and I still would spend more time reading these emails than I would spend on a full week of homeschooling.
What do these people actually believe? Have they written the great American novel? Do they believe the parents are literate at an above average rate? How many adults actually make it through every word?
Public school.
What a waste of time.
Abolish! Abolish! Abolish!
And Another Thing
The other day, I read the same type of argument I have been hearing for many years now. In this case, it was Rich Lowry who did the writing. He wrote, “A key difference between the Greeks and Romans and the rest was that their writers critiqued and lampooned their own societies. This willingness to engage in self-criticism became one of the hallmarks, and strengths, of Western culture.” He wrote this within a piece which lamented the removal of the “Classics” from curriculums around the country.
At first blush, anyone who makes the same lamentations as Mr. Lowry might find his statement to be true. But ultimately it is not true. A key difference is not that the Greeks and Romans lampooned and critiqued their own societies (though other societies may, no doubt, have accomplished less of this). The key difference is that we, the West, conversed with our own societies.
Make no mistake, the Left believes it is carrying out the staunch and noble tradition of “criticizing and lampooning its own society” that Mr. Lowry mentions. But they, the Left, were never the West.
The West is something you choose to become, not something you’re born into. You’re not the West because you’re white. Or because you’re an American. Just like you’re not a man because you’re male. Or a woman because you’re female. Do you see? The West is built of men and women of a certain quality. But the Left never learned this. (This, too, can help explain why they behave like children.)
Regarding the activity of criticism and lampooning, the Left believes that when they remove the classics, they are doing what Copernicus and Galileo did to the geocentric model of the universe when that pair introduced the heliocentric model. The Left believes that when they revise history, they are continuing the tradition of replacing superstitious falsehood like Darwin. Don’t miss this point: Mr. Lowry would have us think that the West’s great tradition and singular tradition is to “critique and lampoon” itself. If that was accurate, the Left is surely in the right. But it’s not accurate.
The tradition is to converse, to discuss, to ask each other uncomfortable questions. And this is certainly not what the Left is doing.
So stop. Stop pretending that there is any other reality unfolding than shaming, that there is any other fix than violence—and most don’t seem to care to take it that far.
If the Left was the West, they’d talk to us. They’d debate us. That they don’t, even as they believe they are continuing the progress begun by the West, simply teaches us that we need to elevate our strategy.
To conclude, the question is not, “Are the Classics Racist?” as Mr. Lowry and his ilk like to express. The question is, “Should the Left be stopped?”
In Defense of the Dark Ages
The other day I was on a video conference and while we were awaiting the leader, I took a moment to sell my “Great Books of the Western World” set. I do this any chance I get. These books are fantastic. Anyhow, the most intriguing part of the set is the concrete evidence of the so-called “Dark Ages”. Sitting between Augustine (vol 18) and Aquinas (vol 19) is a whole lotta nuthin’. That’s about 600 years of “darkness”. I find that nothingness exceedingly compelling.
Anyhow, while waiting, this lady says something that I’ve heard my whole life—without seeing a single shred of evidence—like, “I thought we’ve found that there really was plenty written by other cultures during that time.”
I said something like, “Nope”
Now, she thought she had the upper hand and she struck with something like, “So then why do people say that?”
I said, “Well, essentially, it’s just a lie.”
This never goes over well. Oh well.
Today I wanted to clarify my thoughts and record them for posterity.
If you don’t think the Dark Ages existed, you’re not just saying, “I think recent archeological enterprises have resulted in unearthing writings from between 400AD to 1000AD.” You’re actually saying, (without having even submitted one entry into the written record), “I know more than every human being who has lived since Augustine.” In other words, you’re saying, “My thoughts deserve to be in the Great Books,” despite having not even written them down.
Too strong? Don’t believe me? Allow me to explain.
It’s not just that some editor left out recently discovered writings, it’s that every other author whose genius (unlike yours) has made the world turn and given you almost every thought that you ever have or ever will have conceived left them out.
The negative claim that there was a “dark age” is not limited to a “dark age” for the West, unlike the positive claim that the Great Books of the Western World is limited to the “West”. It is about a “dark age” for human genius. And human genius, by definition, requires permanent results. And permanence is found in one of two ways—directly and indirectly. Directly, the genius is still in play. (Socrates’ skepticism, Trojan Horse, and “Oedipus’ complex” to name a few early ones.) Indirectly, the genius inspired other genius. (Euclid’s Elements > Space X’s reusable rockets. Even if Euclid stops being taught, his (and others’) ideas in the “Elements” can never be forgotten so long as we’re more technologically advanced than mankind was in 300BC.)
In any case, consider the pride in, “I thought we found writings during that period,” before you utter it. I really don’t believe that you intend to be so vain.
That’s the lasting beauty of the Great Books. To criticize them, you have to either willfully ignore them or submit your own entry. The danger in ignoring them is being played out as we live and breathe through masks in the West. The danger in submitting your own entry is public humiliation.
To be sure, the “Dark Age” was real.
Because We Were The Nazis
This one is long overdue–not for the reading, but for the writing of it.
I have a step-son now. He was not born in America. He does not know much about the West.
A few days ago he asked me, “Why does everyone talk about World War Two so much?”
I said, “Huh?”
“You just said, ‘World War Two.’ The other day at school my teacher said, ‘World War Two.’ Why is everyone saying ‘World War Two’ so much?”
Yesterday we were in the car for long enough that I finally took the time to answer him.
“Well, what do you know about how many people are in our town?” I began. I quickly and subsequently learned that the boy is not quite a census expert. So I remedied this as best I could. Then I let Siri do the persuading.
“Hey Siri!” I began, to his delight. “How many people died in World War II?”
“Do you see now?” I asked the boy.
He says he does, but he probably doesn’t. That’s the way these things go.
But there’s something I haven’t taught this young man. Well, it’s more accurate to say that there’s something that I haven’t spoken aloud to this young man. In truth, I’ve been teaching him this thing, and nothing but this thing, since he moved in. I breathe this thing. I eat and drink this thing.
This thing: there’s a deeper, more hidden reason everyone talks about World War II. The reason is because we were the Nazis. Humans were the Nazis. Not corporations. Not aliens. Not AI. Not the poor. Not the rich. Not those with guns. Not those without guns. Not the Muslims. Not the Christians. Not the Blacks. Not the Whites. Not the immigrants. Not the healthy. Not the sick. Not Trump. Not Obama. Not the LGBTQ+. Not the Non-Binary. Not Antifa. Not #IMWITHKAP. Not Greta. Not Climate Deniers. Humans were the Nazis.
The reason everyone talks about World War II is because we were the Nazis. And we cannot forgive ourselves.
But worse, we believe that if we teach what happened, if we just talk about what happened, then we believe it will not happen again.
That, of course, is simply not true. To be crystal clear here, George Santayana’s eloquent sounding sentiment, “Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it,” is dead wrong. He was perniciously wrong.
So I’m raising my step-son (and H-) with this in mind–constantly. I do nearly everything with one singular goal in mind: teach him to be a man. That is, I teach him to think for himself.
We were the Nazis. But I was not a Nazi. And LORD help me, I will never be a Nazi. Instead, I am a man.
Moreover, I will not let the voices of doubt win when it comes to raising a boy to become a man.
I’m talking now to all of you who think it is cruel to make a child work on handwriting. Cruel to make a child read aloud until they get it right. Cruel to punish a child for disobedience. Cruel to create a standard and hold a child to it. Cruel to keep a child from TV and YouTube. Cruel to teach a child that children do not boss adults. Cruel to have a bedtime schedule. Cruel to make them eat the same meal everyone else at the table is eating. Cruel to make them finish their food entirely–and their milk. Cruel to make them do chores. Cruel to say “no” to a child–every single time they ask for something stupid like more dessert, more time, or any and everything they ever see at the store.
I’m raising a man. I’m not trying to have a friend. And I’m not trying to please you and your gay sensibilities. We were the Nazis! Do you get it? “We” were the Nazis. The only thing that can defeat “We” is “Me.” I won’t join you. And I promise you that my adult children will surely feel a shame second only to the one which comes from awareness of having sinned against their maker, if they find themselves joining the “we” on some distant day.
Enough about me. What about you? What about your sons and daughters? Are they going to come after my children some day?
My Best Conversation Tip When You Know You Are Smarter Than Everyone In The Room
I recently moved. It’s been difficult, but it is a good thing–a great thing. I am flying again.
However, I have been struggling on the social side of life. Many of you may recall that while I wasn’t flying, I was educating myself. More than educating myself, I was learning how we know anything about anything.
When one engages in this pursuit, the pursuit of knowledge, he or she is usually surrounded by other like-minded individuals. In other words, he or she feels normal. They feel comfortable.
But when school ends, reality hits home. No one cares. People not in school simply do not care. To you all, I say, “Cool beans. Good for you.”
But the problem remains. If I walk into a church, I probably have studied biblical history, language history, and the Bible itself more than any two people present combined. If I am among a group of pilots, my military flight training sets me apart from the civilian group for sure, and my having been trained by the Air Force sets me apart from the wannabe Air Force pilots that settled for serving in a flying capacity in one of the other branches.
In short, the problem is conversations become belabored. These days I want to get in-depth on whatever subject matter is of note. I mean, I have questions, man! Soon after, though, they realize that they don’t quite carry the same fire as I do. Consequently, one of us changes the subject to avoid silence.
After much consideration, then, I have discovered the solution. Or at least the following offering is my best conversation tip when you know you are smarter than everyone in the room. (This is both for me and for some of the other smartypants I know who are noisily lurking around out there.)
Ready?
Here it is: Be quiet.
Yup. Stay silent. Keep observing and keep learning. There is no rush.
Okay. That’s all, folks!
PS: Dark Phoenix was great. I think the reason it received bad press was its elevation and commendation of the virtue of “forgiveness”.
The Divine Answer
I don’t know exactly where the time went, but the other day I just realized that I am thirty-seven years old. Wow.
After considering the matter, it occurred to me that I aged three years while at Seminary. (To be clear, this means I now have righteous reading skills, not major math skills.)
Additionally, I just realized that I finally have the clearest and most truthful answer to the question that has been nagging at me for some time.
The question: What did you do at Seminary?
The answer: I got older.
Boo ya.
Captain’s Log 