Tagged: school
Review of Black Swan, by Darren Aronofsky; also Something for Consideration Regarding Public School Teachers
My main man when it comes to movie reviews is Bill Gibron. Back around the time that the internet first came to be there was a website called filmcritic.com. I discovered him there, I think. Anyhow, I have always appreciated his reviews and found them to be helpful in deciding whether or not to shell out the big bucks for a movie ticket. Over time I have noticed that he has had a particular love affair with Darren Aronofsky. Because of my esteem of Mr. Gibron, I have desperately sought the same love affair, but never quite saw the “genius” that Mr. Gibron did. I really enjoyed Mr. Aronofsky’s films, I just didn’t fall in love with the man like Mr. Gibron seemed to. All that has changed.
H- just began to learn Peter Tchaikovsky’s epic Swan Lake theme on the piano. It is a force of nature even when played with just one note at a time. In any case, this event taken together with a real desire to give Mr. Gibron’s passion one more go led to me viewing Black Swan for a second time. This time around I finally see the genius. Black Swan is the story of a ballet dancer who is trying to be the best as would be indicated by her dancing the role of the swan queen in Tchaikovsky’s Swan Lake in some hot shot’s revision of Swan Lake. So it’s a movie about a revision of a very famous ballet that includes themes of sacrifice and pressure to perform etc. But it’s not! It, Black Swan itself, is the revision of Swan Lake for movie-going audiences! And that’s why Mr. Aronofsky is a genius and deserves our attention. He cuts through all our defenses and serves up Tchaikovsky’s timeless story in a new way that forces us to reckon with all of our notions of love and happiness and truth and sacrifice. It’s an amazing film. Watch it. Watch it again.
****
Perhaps some of you think I am too hard on public school teachers. Here’s something to consider. A public school teacher with an amazing (if any divorce blog can attain such a title) blog mentioned that she finds herself teaching “frustration management” to her students. At this point, I would like to call my roughneck friends to the discussion. You see, when I was working in the oil fields, there was work to be done. Manly work. And yes, I mean that in the gender specific way. Work that men and only men can accomplish. For instance, every time we finished drilling a well, we had to move the rig to a new well. One of the things that this move required was the tightening of nuts onto bolts. The nuts were about the size of a woman’s fist, and the bolts were just over a foot long. The way we tightened these nuts was by swinging a sledge hammer as hard as we possibly could against a hammer wrench which was placed around the nut. Out of a twelve hour shift, how many minutes do you think we were given to not swinging the sledge hammer in favor of discussing how to deal with how frustrating the task was?
Do not hear me say that learning is not frustrating. And remember that I am the one who quit being a “teacher” because I refused to buy into the “be the change” mantra that schools with poor performing students chant. Instead, hear me calling public school teachers to realize that they are making the weather that they are complaining about. No other group–no other group–who controls their destiny does it in such a poor fashion as public school teachers. That’s what frustrates me (and I think most non-public educators).
By way of example, guess which specialty runs the Air Force? Pilots. Guess what pilots do for each other in the Air Force? Take care of each other. They ensure the flying is safe and smart and everyone is compensated well. Public school teachers, on the other hand, cite chapter and verse about all the limitations and massive time requirements etc. that they have to operate within and never once consider that just like Air Force pilots they are the one’s who write the book. Spending time teaching kids how to deal with the fact that learning takes effort? That cannot but be a disservice to the child–and I think teachers know that. So stop doing it. Kids need to learn to hit the hammer wrench as hard as they can and enjoy the feeling of accomplishment after the task is completed and completed well. And the only way to learn this is for teachers to tell the kids that the nuts must be tightened by a sledge hammer. As it stands, the only thing kids are learning is that the nuts don’t need to be tightened. Maybe teachers agree.
A Note On Public School Teachers
Long-time readers know of my, how shall I put it, no-love-lost relationship with public school teachers. Yes. That’s a fair way to describe the romance. Of course, it is a difficult thing to critique people who do thankless jobs. However, because teachers are adults and I know what being an adult feels like, I won’t hesitate to critique them.
This morning I went to help the kindergartners read. They each have a reading folder which contains an appropriate skill-level book and a sheet of paper on which data is recorded, data like book title, date, skill level, and the like. To give feedback to the teacher or next volunteer, there are three boxes to choose from which describe the contest between student and book: Just Right, Too Easy, Too Hard.
(New readers: My daughter is in the class.)
Anyhow, the teacher is setting me up at my spot just outside the classroom and she actually told me, instructed me, to not mark any “Too Easy”. (Pause for effect.) How could she possibly know the future?
More than that, she emphasized heavily that everything should be positive feedback and that I wasn’t to use the word “no” or say “that’s not right”. More than that, she gave me the okay to give the student the difficult word rather than have them sound it out.
If my daughter was overly shy and unkempt and occasionally had bruises that she hurriedly covered up and could not ruh-ruh-ruh-ree-add, then maybe I could see the need to talk to me about the nature of teaching the skill of reading–maybe.
Oh and another thing. One little girl was pouting because her dad’s finger accidentally touched her cheek as he got her out of the car. After sending the little girl to the nurse to get some ice, the same teacher looked at me knowingly and said, “Sometimes all it takes is a hug and a little ice.” All it takes for what? What exactly is the predicted/anticipated/desired future for indulging that kind of behavior? If you’re less than fifty and have kids I blame you. It’s probably against some policy somewhere to tell a 5 year old human-in-training, “Stop crying. You’re not hurt. Move along” because either you or parents you knew complained that a teacher with your child’s best interest in mind was being a meany.
Theologian’s Log?
In a stunning turn of events whose deeper meaning even I am still struggling to discern, I just finished my first week at seminary where I am taking courses which line me up to earn a Masters of Divinity, with a major in theology. Smile, people. I am.
I don’t really have time to be writing for free at the moment, but I just feel like sharing some observations about this new journey.
First, this news should come as no surprise to anyone who knows me. I love talking/thinking/studying Christianity and theology. It only makes sense that I’d end up doing it in a formal school.
Second, I can now pronounce and write the Koine Greek alphabet in upper and lowercase.
Third, did I mention I can’t stop smiling? Here’s why. I was late to the orientation where the few other theology majors were chatting with the department heads. When it came time for questions, I asked, “So. Say a person doesn’t really know what theology is. How would you explain it?” My heart was pounding. I didn’t have time to add/drop courses etc, and so I didn’t want to discover that I was in the wrong room. Yet I had to ask the question. When he began to answer I played it cool and listened, though I am sure my eyes had a sparkle. When he stopped, I couldn’t suppress my excitement any longer. Boom. Huge smile. I was in the right place. I said, “You just made me happy.” The two professors couldn’t believe it. Ha. They chuckled and said, “We don’t usually hear students say that…” B, for one of my courses, I have to write a book report on a book called War in the Bible and Terrorism is the 21st Century. Knowing my own stance on war, post military service which included combat, I couldn’t help but feel like I just showed up to an all you can eat pizza buffet and discovered that there was also a dessert buffet. Read and write about whether “love your enemy” stops somewhere short of unless they’re building nukes? Yes sir. I’ll take another piece. And some ice cream.
Fourth, what this really boils down to is “I want to know what I believe.” I just want to know.
Fifth, as I’ve shared what type of Masters program I’m in with non-believers, I have chuckled nearly every time upon the discovery that while I’m the one attending, they seem to know more about my future as they say, “You want to be a preacher?” Ha. I have no idea. I just want to learn for now. It’s funny that learning as a virtue is totally gone. If there is no professional monetary endgame, then people become confused. “Why are you going then?” (Naturally, at this point I have to insist it’s to get in to heaven.)
Sixth, I cannot describe the feeling I get while on campus. Forget Jesus (forgive me Jesus), forget God (ditto), forget theology, forget the Bible (I’m really going to hell now), forget Christianity. Forget it all, and the place is still shocking. Unlike all the jobs and co-workers I’ve had, unlike the folks that constitute my beloved Toastmasters club, unlike those who attended my Mark Twain Listening Club, the seminary is a place filled with people who honestly want to make the world better. They’re not selling t-shirts, they’re not handing out business cards, they don’t have a desperation in their voice about closing the sale, they’re not trying to get the upper-hand in the conversation, they just have come to a place in their lives where they see service to others as their mission and want to do it in an as informed a way as possible. The campus, the offices, the classrooms, the chapel, the coffee shop, it’s just oozing with heart.
Seventh, I will not become a robot. One ex-mormon blogger-friend comes to mind now and I can hear her disdain at this news already. Allow me to rebut. Whatever other seminary’s exist, and what goes on behind their closed doors, I don’t know. So far this one is not a brain washing factory. So far the professors are classic professors. They are extremely well-read (and traveled), they are decent public speakers, they challenge commonly accepted beliefs and paradigms, and they have adorable quirks that can only be developed after years of standing at the front of a classroom and of which they are unaware. Let it be known: If anything gets weird, I’ll share it. And then I’ll definitely stay in the program. Undercover student in a cult indoctrination? That job is almost cooler than actually believing I might be able to learn how best to actively glorify God and perhaps be on the contributor side of the equation that might lead to a pagan experiencing the joyful spiritual transformation that occurs after accepting Jesus as his/her personal savior. You might call that a win-win situation.
Eighth, one of my first devil’s advocate questions to any heathen reader right now is this: “Do you believe human beings possess the parts/capability to discern that a leader is speaking from (brace yourself) God?” Put another way, is it possible for me to convince you that I honestly believe (as a reasonable, sane citizen) that leader So-and-So’s ideas/rhetoric/vision/plan/mission transcends generally accepted scientific knowledge? That they are acting as an agent of some unnamed ultimate reality? Or will you always label me a “sucker” or “delusional”? Why or why not?
Ninth, on a wholly un-theological note, I think God might have messed up. As H- gets older and older it is becoming clear that she is supposed to be the daughter of a blind couple. Does anyone else’s kid announce every single thing they do? “I’m walking. I’m putting on my shoes. I’m jumping. I’m playing. I’m swimming. I’m dancing. I’m raising my hand.” Yeah, H-, I get it. I’m right next to you and can see what you’re doing. These eyes aren’t just for show. Shyat!
Hot For Teacher
“She has to know, right?”
“I don’t know, man. Does she? Know what?”
“Know that her words are very flattering. Very, very flattering.”
“I mean, sure she’s your teacher and we’d all like to believe teachers are more aware than their students, but that doesn’t necessarily mean she’s thinking like you think she’s thinking.”
“I’m not saying I know how she’s thinking. I’m just saying that it has been a long time since anyone has said I’m fascinating, endearing, and an enigma.”
“Whoa, slow down buddy. She didn’t say you were fascinating, endearing and enigmatic. She said your writing was.”
“Hey, don’t ruin this moment for me.”
“Okay, okay.”
“So what do you think my next play should be?”
“All I know is that she’s your number one contender right now.”
“Think so?”
“Definitely.”
“Yeah, I guess you’re right.”
“You said she reads your blog?”
“She said she does. She even used the word ‘wildly’ to describe an aspect of them. ‘Wildly’. I like that.”
“You told me that she said your blog was ‘wildly different’ than your discussion posts for class.”
“Like I said, ‘wildly’.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
To Humanity or Not To Humanity
Those of you who left the world of academia long ago might be unaware that there is a debate raging about the humanities. Are college students interested in majoring in the humanities? Are they not? Would they like to, but their practical mind says, “Don’t be a fool. There are no jobs for humanities majors.”
My question is why is this debate even happening? I suspect that students who major in vocational type degrees get their long-sought-after jobs and live happily ever after. Just like students who major in the humanities or liberal arts degrees don’t get jobs related to their degree and live happily ever after.
There is some notion that accompanies attending college which goes something like, “If only we all do this right, we can achieve heaven on earth.” Is that what we (humans) really think?
I say do what you want. I wanted to get good grades and learn about why people behave they way they do. So I majored in sociology. Some people want to become very rich, so they major in fields that lend themselves to making money. Other people want to paint, so they major in art. I don’t see why this is a discussion. Am I missing something?
I want to be the best that I can be. Isn’t that enough? Why do I have to conform to your utopia? How about this: You just do your best rather than worry about forecasting what will happen if nobody studies English or History anymore. And I’ll do the same. And then we’ll see what happens.
Self-Reflective Letter for English 201 (Really, This Is College Today.)
Dear Professor E–:
I’ve been thinking about our relationship a lot lately. Do you remember how we first met? You, the professor–the gatekeeper; me, the seeker? I remember it like it was yesterday. You lectured me on the importance of listening. Always the professional, you wouldn’t fudge my grade just because I made really good arguments why I didn’t turn in my work on time. Didn’t you understand that I was just coming out of another relationship and didn’t have time for you yet?
Without you, I would’ve never experienced growth. Of course, I’m referring to how you led me from veritable darkness to light in the areas of critical reading, argument analysis, and revision.
Like a dream, you asked me to explore anything I wanted. You challenged me to research a body of work in a way I never before had. You even allowed me to use webpages. More than that, you loosed the first-person-perspective that I had bottled up inside for all these years. Specifically, I told you I wanted to go to Mars. Like a good friend, you encouraged this dream, while subtly encouraging me to do a little research before packing. Now, neither of us were greenhorns when we met, but it is because of your relentless attention that I discovered how to improve my ability to read for understanding and then communicate my findings via the written word. The only pity is that, according to my research, there is a great chance that after I’m selected to move to Mars, our relationship will be forced to end. I hope you’ll write.
Next, I wanted to thank you for the invaluable lessons in argument analysis. Before we met, I always thought I won my arguments using “the right way.” Never in my wildest dreams did I expect to learn that I could be right using several different methods of argumentation. Formal logic is difficult to defeat, but with your help I learned that it isn’t the only kind. You taught me The Toulmin Model, which comes in most handy when reading an argument that is so shameful that the writer hides what they really have to say. Just the same, I want to be good at everything, so learning how to be forgiving during a debate proved invaluable. And then, do you remember how you kept me up late reading about Rogerian analysis? You know, when you apply the time-tested art of flattery to win over dissenters? The whole, “Let me outline your argument for you, praise it, but then subtly recommend that my way is still better.” It’s really touching how it works. If you ever get sick of me, I just may use it to win you back—watch out!
Finally, and really through everything—thick and thin—you taught me how to keep an every-watchful eye on my own writing. Revise, revise, revise. Over the last several months, you asked me to do a lot of things. Sometimes I was uncomfortable, yet you always required that I take it a step at a time. It was here where I learned that the process is as important as the product.
So here we sit—you and me—in this crazy, crazy world. Who can know what the future holds? All I can hope is that you’ll stay in mine. It’s been wonderful thus far Professor E–. You’re the best.
Yours sincerely,
//signed//
Pete, Favorite Student
Candles, Flowers, Frustration
Sitting next to me at the table, her little body was shaking, arms bent at 90-degrees, fists clenched. “You know daddy, when I get frustrated, I smell a floor and blo ow a cannel,” she says so fast I couldn’t quite translate the three-year old speak into English.
“What?” I respond laughing. “You do what when you get frustrated? Why are you getting frustrated?”
“You know,” she begins to shake again, “when I get frustrated, at school, Miss Jen says when I get frustrated I smell a flower and blow out a candle,” she says, thinking she made her point clearly.
“You smell a flower and blow out a candle?” I ask slowly, enunciating.
“Yeah. At school when I get frustrated,” she reiterates, offering her wide open eyes and nodding head as evidence of her conviction.
“Who taught you this? Your mother or school?” I ask, more curious to discover if I’ll believe she is telling the truth when she answers than what her answer is.
“Miss Jen said at school,” her arms assume the position, but no shaking this time, “when I get frustrated, I should smell a flower and blow out a candle,” she says, not showing any signs of actually becoming frustrated during my uncalled for inquisition.
“Smell a flower and blow out a candle, eh?” I mutter to myself, this time widening my eyes as I take a deep breath through my nose and exhale through my mouth. “Ha,” I say, rolling my eyes, smirking. “What will they think up next?
Rage Against Home School Teachers
“It is simply a matter of time. Quantity over quality,” he told his boss, the principal, as he resigned. He had never been so torn in his entire life.
How does one give up on a child?
****
He felt like crying.
The first step in solving any problem, he knew, was identifying it. The school district wanted high performance on standardized tests. The start of his resignation began when, as an outsider looking in, he surmised that the powers that be thought there was a direct correlation between the amount of paper on classroom walls and high performance on standardized tests. Finding himself in vehement disagreement, he wouldn’t support this doctrine. Remembering, or rather, not remembering there being much paper, certainly not much memorable paper on the walls of his childhood classrooms–save an attempt to show Pi’s irrational nature and a few motivational quotes–he couldn’t help but laugh at the sick joke.
In dealing with 13 year old’s who didn’t know their times table (and didn’t care to learn it), he recollected something he learned in college. He recalled learning that the notion of a juvenile, that is a 13-18 year old human, is man made. The theory goes something like, “until relatively recently puberty marked the coming-of-age of a human.” Puberty marked the entrance to manhood. It marked the entrance to womanhood. In at least Western civilization, however, we have something in between childhood and adulthood. We have the juvenile. For the deserving, this truly is a privilege. The deserving, those 13-18 year old’s who possess an ability to appreciate this extended grace period, should reap a benefit from past generations diligence. But the undeserving? What should happen to them? No matter whose fault it was, the undeserving should be placed where they’ll be placed in a few years anyhow–the adult world. “Don’t want to learn? Work. Find the simple joy of labor. Or, regret with a vengeance the stupid decision to not want to know how to think for yourself.” Either way, they’d be better for it.
Alas, frustratingly, even if he identified the problem as a misunderstanding of human biology, he only opened the door to another problem. What could have been done to teach 13 year old’s to value a readily available, free, and rigorous education? The answer? A home where education is valued. A better home school.
In his short tenure at the school he refused to call any of his student’s parents–for their protection. He wasn’t trying to protect the students, but the parents. He knew once the conversation began he wouldn’t be able to stop. “How could you raise your children with such carelessness? How could you not read to your children? How could you not ask about school and homework? How could you not demand the highest standards of behavior and performance? How could you reward their poor behavior with enabling feigned as ignorance?”
His own achievements convinced him of the simple truth that no expectation was too high. His own achievements began with the fear of earning a mother’s scorn. No way would she, or his father, have let his school advance him to 4th grade without doing his best in 3rd grade–and having the grades to show for it. His student’s parents though? Ha. They weren’t human beings. They were jokes.
****
How does one give up on a child? Most adults avoid situations which might result in needing to answer that question. He finally saw why. The answer was simultaneously unthinkable and the right thing to do. He cried.
Frustration
“Okay,” he sighed. “So you don’t want to do division… Let’s chat for a second,” he said to the 15 year-old high school student. “Do you plan on getting a job soon?”
“No. Why would I?” she answered withdrawing and scrunching up her face in disgust.
“Don’t you want money to buy things you want that your parents won’t buy for you?” he nearly pleaded.
“My mom buys me what I want,” she snapped.
“Okay, well what about the expensive stuff. Like when I was in high school, if I wanted a $30 or $50 video game, I had to use my own money. What about that kind of stuff?” he calmly inquired.
“Umm…my mom just bought me two pair of Jordan’s for, what was it, um, like two hundred,” she stated defiantly.
He had nothing. He had no cards up his sleeve. He had no bargaining chips. There was nothing he could say that was true. She could literally never learn division and still live out her life. She literally would be able to eat, drink and be merry without knowing how to compare fractions, without knowing how to simplify improper fractions. Still, he felt that something was terribly wrong.
Where was her drive? Where was her motivation? Where was her self-worth? Where was her desire to improve herself?
Racking his brain, he could only conclude that she had never been given those things to lose. He couldn’t remember a specific day he was given them, but he knew he had them. Maybe he was just getting old.
He was hired to teach her. The problem became clearer every day. Kids like her didn’t need teachers. They’d had skillful, motivated, capable teachers their entire lives. They needed parents.
She was almost an adult, yet if it was cold enough for mittens, she couldn’t do a 12 x 12 times table. And she didn’t care.
Before You Subtract…Abstract
What makes a person want to learn?
What makes a person want to teach?
What does it take to convince a 14-year old that knowing how to add/subtract/multiple/divide fractions is valuable? Is knowing how to manipulate fractions valuable?
I spent some time reading a book about algebra recently, and noticed the author put special, but still less than I would have, emphasis on some major moments in the history of math. The first being the invention/recognition of the number “0”. Another being the move from numbers being practical to being abstract; that is, from counting 5 apples or 5 sheep to understanding that “5” can be a useful concept without the practical application. Did you catch that? Numbers began with practical application. Afterwards, the giants of math discovered numbers and math in abstraction. Because of these giants, we’ll be colonizing other planets in our lifetime.
In reviewing this chronology, I think I picked up on something. The problem a high school teacher faces is not convincing several-grade-levels-behind teenagers of the practical application of fractions, but convincing them of the importance of abstract thought. You might be thinking that reminding students that if Matt pays $3.75 and John $1.25, unless Matt is feeling nice, John should only get 2 slices of the Hot’n’Ready seems the better route at this juncture. Don’t be foolish, it is not. Really, who cares how many slices of pizza a couple of high teenagers eat? The bigger problem is that there are four years left until these two knuckleheads will never again be members of a captive audience. There are four years until they will officially become adults in the legal sense of the word, regardless of their not having achieved manhood in the abstract sense of the word.
How to proceed then? How about heeding Thoreau?
“No wonder that Alexander carried the Iliad with him on his expeditions in a precious casket. A written word is the choicest of relics. It is something at once more intimate with us and more universal than any other work of art. It is the work of art nearest to life itself. It may be translated into every language, and not only be read but actually breathed from all human lips; — not be represented on canvas or in marble only, but be carved out of the breath of life itself. The symbol of an ancient man’s thought becomes a modern man’s speech. Two thousand summers have imparted to the monuments of Grecian literature, as to her marbles, only a maturer golden and autumnal tint, for they have carried their own serene and celestial atmosphere into all lands to protect them against the corrosion of time. Books are the treasured wealth of the world and the fit inheritance of generations and nations. Books, the oldest and the best, stand naturally and rightfully on the shelves of every cottage. They have no cause of their own to plead, but while they enlighten and sustain the reader his common sense will not refuse them. Their authors are a natural and irresistible aristocracy in every society, and, more than kings or emperors, exert an influence on mankind. When the illiterate and perhaps scornful trader has earned by enterprise and industry his coveted leisure and independence, and is admitted to the circles of wealth and fashion, he turns inevitably at last to those still higher but yet inaccessible circles of intellect and genius, and is sensible only of the imperfection of his culture and the vanity and insufficiency of all his riches, and further proves his good sense by the pains which be takes to secure for his children that intellectual culture whose want he so keenly feels; and thus it is that he becomes the founder of a family.”
Captain’s Log 