Brave Heart

Whole Heart… Brave Heart

 

Unless you can know fear, it is impossible to be brave.

 

         If you have ever spent much time with kids at our schools in this nation, you have no doubt run into some kids who are unbelievably brave.  Many of the brave people I run into in my life have been our students.  They come to us from such varied backgrounds.  In one school you may have students who are from affluent, supportive families who never want for anything sitting next to students who are from homes where poverty, alcoholism, and abuse run rampant.  We usually end up making the mistake of expecting these two examples of kids to behave and respond the same.  That expectation would be a huge mistake.

President Theodore Roosevelt gave a speech at the Sorbonne in Paris, France on April 23, 1910 that spoke to bravery well.  He said, “It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat.”

For many of our kids, every day of their existence they “step into the arena.”  It isn’t just at school that they “step into the arena,” but it is from the moment they rise to deal with the hand they have been dealt at home until the moment they find a place to sleep for the night.

Knowing this, it is our responsibility to cheer them on.  It seems that most of our society predicts failure for those who are stuck in poverty and very adverse circumstance.  The kids that dare to “step into the arena” understand that they are the underdog.  They understand that there may be “booing” and an expectation to fail based on who they are when they walk into the arena.  They understand that the people who built the “arena” tend to cheer those on that are most like the builders of the arena, yet they walk into the arena afraid…and because they are afraid – brave.

These kids have come to the realization that you can choose courage or you can choose comfort, but you cannot have both.  Being brave takes us out of our comfort zone and is vital to breakthrough life’s circumstances.  As adults and educators, it is our responsibility to prepare our kids for the “arena.”  This involves having the courage to develop a relationship with the kid…often not comfortable for either.  It requires us to be their cheerleader, their confidant, their coach… their teacher.

I love Brene’ Brown’s description of stories…data with a soul.  This book has been peppered with “data with a soul.”  I do this because I have discovered, as our ancestors who wrote fables, legends, and parables before us, that this type of “data” not only goes into the mind but it moves to the heart.  With that in mind, I would like to share some “data” on Shaun.

Shaun was a seventh grade young man who had managed to achieve “frequent flier” status in our middle school office.  He sought attention and received it the easy way – poor behavior.  We knew that life was tough for this young man.  If you have ever driven south out of Colorado Springs, CO on I-25 toward Pueblo you would notice a KOA Campground just to the east of the highway in the Fort Carson vicinity.  That is where Shaun lived in a four door sedan with a dad that looked like a Hell’s Angel, a mom that was beat down by his dad, and a third grade brother.  He lived in the car.  We had been concerned for the social, mental, and physical well being of this kid throughout his seventh grade year.

Shaun barely made it through his seventh grade year academically and now we were starting his eighth grade year.  My assistant principal and I made our normal beginning of the year presentations to the students and one of the things we presented to the kids was our plan to reward, recognize, respect, and reinforce academic achievement, great attitudes, and positive actions as much or more than what has been typically reserved for athletic achievement.  Some of what we called the “4 R’s” involved earning different levels of cards that came with different extra prizes and privileges.  In this school, it worked amazingly well and now, eighteen years later, the program is still making a difference in students’ lives.  But I digress…

Shaun came up to my assistant principal and myself after our presentation and informed us that he was going to earn one of the cards.  We smiled and sent Shaun on his way.  We knew there was no way the Shaun that we knew from the year before was going to earn a reward card.  The lowest level card required a 3.0 GPA (or a 0.5 increase in GPA over the previous quarter), no discipline referrals, no more than one tardy, and no unexcused absences.

As we talked and laughed a little about Shaun coming up and announcing to us that he was going to earn a card, we thought “why not?”  To do this we were going to have to work to put success in his path.  One of the things we knew intuitively and from research is that students involved in activities tend to perform substantially better than students not involved in activities.  We needed to get Shaun involved.

With the start of each school year brings football.  We knew that Shaun had no medical physical that he would have to have to compete.  He would have no football shoes to wear and we knew he would have no ride home from practice to the KOA Campground miles away.  We worked to set all of these up and then we approached him.  “Shaun, would you like to play football?”  He replied, “OK.”  It was on!

Shaun had an amazing football season.  Shaun was a great big blonde shaggy haired kid who absolutely excelled at football.  By the end of the nine-week grade period, which also coincided with the end of the football season, Shaun had a 3.0 GPA, no discipline referrals, was never tardy, and had no unexcused absences.  He had earned his card!  He was so proud at our first Academic Pep Assembly when he was able to come forward and get his card.  Most of the students and many staff members were a little slack jawed when they saw Shaun rise to go receive his just reward.  We did have a problem… football was over.

“Heh, Shaun… Want to be on the wrestling team?”

“OK.”

As an administrator we must supervise our activities.  My assistant principal and I were dividing up duties between the two sports that coincided – wrestling and volleyball.  While I love volleyball, this was before the “rally scoring system” was brought in and it took forever for some of our middle school volleyball games to end.  With that in mind, I volunteered for wrestling.  I didn’t know much about wrestling, but I could cheer loud.

Shaun was our heavy weight wrestler.  As it turned out, he was also a great wrestler.  I couldn’t help but marvel at this young man who entered the arena every match with all of the pressures that come with the life he led.  He had the pressure of living in a car.  He had the pressure of living with a dad who was prone to abuse.  He had the pressure of trying to protect his mom and his brother from his dad.  He had the pressure of trying to make sure he had something clean to wear to school.  He had the pressure of often times trying to find food to eat when they had run out.  Now he had the pressure of being the last wrestler of every wrestling meet with the team’s win or loss often falling to him.  I like to joke that there is also the pressure of having to wear the “onesie” that wrestlers have to wear as a uniform to compete in, but I have since been corrected and informed it is called a “singlet.”  I could see the stress on his face every time he stepped on the mat.  It tied my gut in a knot as well.

Shaun and I developed a ritual after every one of his matches.  I am sure that as you pictured Shaun in your mind at the wrestling matches, you did not picture Shaun’s parents in attendance.  You would be correct.  They never did attend a football game, wrestling match, or a track meet (the spring sport he participated in that year).  I thought I would have to comfort him after losing a match, but I never did have to.  He won every match!  Our ritual involved me running to the edge of the mat after he won, putting my arm around his neck in a hug (and doing a little “head butt” to “be a men about it”), and then me saying “Shaun, I’m so proud of you!”  His response was always the same as well… “Thank you, Sir.”  He learned “sir” in football that year.

It was the second to the last match of the year and Shaun was matched up with another undefeated wrestler.  There was a large crowd that was loud and going a little nuts.  It looked as though there were going to be a couple of wrestling matches in the crowd at one point and now the win or loss for the team came down to the Heavyweight match between Shaun and the other undefeated boy.

The match was back and forth and Shaun was behind until the last few seconds when Shaun got a reverse and pinned his opponent.  The crowd went nuts!  The other team’s crowd was very upset that it was called a pin and our home crowd was ecstatic.  I had to immediately move to the crowd to keep fights from breaking out and work everyone out of the gym.  I then worked my way home.

The next morning bright and early I was at my principal’s desk working and I looked up and flinched a little in surprise as Shaun was standing in my doorway.  He had worked his way right past the secretaries and was standing there a little misty eyed.  I greeted him and then asked what he was up to.  He replied with a question, “Why weren’t you at my match last night?”

I responded, “Shaun, I was there!  I’m hoarse this morning from screaming so loud.  Way to kick some butt!!”

Tears then started to work their way down Shaun’s face and he asked, “Why didn’t you come down on the mat afterwards?”

My heart sank.  Although I had an excuse, it was not a good one.  I apologized and gushed over how well he was doing, but that didn’t take the place of the moment that he was looking forward to after the match.

Shaun had one match left that season and I raced down to the mat after he won and gave him a huge hug and “head bonk.”  That was the reward, recognition, respect, and reinforcement he was looking for.  What did Shaun yearn for?  …love, respect, connection!  He hungered for the meaningful connection that relationship can bring to a young man in dire circumstances.  Was he afraid to enter the arena?  Absolutely.  Was he brave?  Absolutely!

He was willing to risk it all for the chance of Connection.  The only way Shaun was going to have this chance to be whole hearted was to step into the arena and take advantage of the success that caring educators put in his path.  The educators worked hard to create a path that did not allow him to dodge success as many kids manage to do.

They did this with love – the type of love that made Shaun want to check at the gate of the arena any shame he felt from the circumstances he was born into.  He was shown that he was worthy of love and worthy of connection.  He was worthy of success in the classroom arena, in the athletic arena, in the relationship arena, and in the arena of life.

A 10 Year Old Orphan’s Lament

I was given an amazing moment of clarity this past week. I feel it was a gift of God for me to use when I work with kids or other adults that work with kids. I was allowed to feel the overwhelming sadness of an orphaned child on one of the worst days of his life. While painful, it has served to soften my heart even more to the pain that many children experience – often in silence.

My Dad was an amazing man. He was basically orphaned at the age of six. His Mom died of tuberculosis and his dad, a truck driver, had little interest in the three sons she left behind and so they were farmed out and passed around to different relatives who didn’t really want them either.

Dad ended up in the home of his Aunt Lucille. When I was young I got to experience this woman who really cared about me and loved me. As I grew older, I realized this was a compensation for how horrid she treated my Dad. His days living with her consisted of coming home from school and immediately going out to help dig the new sewers that were being put into the town of Madison or doing cleaning work in the house. In the house he had to get on his hands and knees and scrub the floors with a rag. When he was not doing it to her satisfaction she would hit him in the head hard with a wooden handle of a hammer. He would then be fed supper and have to do the dishes. He was then instructed to do his homework and practice the one activity he was allowed to do – play his baritone. Dad was not allowed to participate in sports or activities because, as his Aunt Lucille clearly stated, they were foolishness. His relief from this was bedtime. This was his daily cycle.

Occasionally he would have a different type of work to do. At the age of 10 he was working out on an oil pump that needed serviced. Oil pumps are by design extremely heavy. One of these heavy parts swung around and crushed my Dad’s toes on his right foot. He was taken from the field to the wood loading dock of the train depot/ice house of Madison, KS. His Uncle Wilbur worked there. He sat there while they tried to figure out what to do. They took him to the doctor and he sat there the entire day until the doctor agreed to see him. By that time it was too late. The toes were turning black and would have to be cut off.

This past week I took my son, Tanner, to begin his first year of college. By coincidence, Tanner looks more like my Dad than any other of my sons. After we got Tanner situated in Manhattan we decided to take a different route home that would take us by the town of Madison. Madison sits at the bottom and on the east side of a huge hill. At the bottom of the hill is where my Dad’s Aunt Lucille and Uncle Wilbur lived. It is where Dad lived at the age of 10. We drove by the house. It was abandoned, falling apart, and overgrown with weeds. We drove on to the edge of town where the Depot/Ice House stood.

I pulled up in front of the Depot/Ice House and told my wife the story. I’ve told this story many, many times but now was different. I find writing about it now impossible to do without tears. At that moment I was given the gift of feeling part of what my Dad felt as he sat there with crushed toes. Not only did he have crushed, bloody toes, but he was alone. There were others who carried him to the dock so that someone else could do something with him, but he knew at the age of 10 that he was alone. The physical pain was immense, but nothing compared to the deep sadness of realizing he was not cared for. No one was going to push a doctor to see him immediately. He was going to get the least. He hungered for a Mom that would wrap him in her arms and whisper in his ear that it was going to be OK. He hungered for a Dad who would carry him to the car to be taken to a doctor and demand service… NOW. He knew he was getting none of that. He hungered for love that was nowhere to be found.

I sat there and fought back the tears for the lament of this 10-year old boy who would become my Dad. I’m sure my wife would think I was crazy if I just broke, so I refrained. It is a miracle that my Dad did not die of Erasmus – the disease orphans die of on a regular basis who receive no love, no holding, no hugging and receive just the basics of food, water, and clothing. It is a miracle that he came through this sadness, this lament, to become the amazing Dad who loved his kids more than life and showed that through the gift of his time playing with them and supporting them.

I wish I were there to hug that little 10 year old boy and whisper in his ear that it was going to be alright. I wish I were there to fight the good fight for the needs of this 10 year old orphan so that his needs would be met on that terrible day. That is impossible, but instead I will be the one that will love other children who are orphaned or living basically as an orphan with parents. I do this because it is right and I do this to honor the lament of the 10-year old orphan, who would become my Dad, sitting there on the wood loading dock of the Depot/Ice House in Madison, KS in 1946.

Steve Woolf

DONUTS, VULNERABILITY, & RAY

            I can remember the little sixth grade boy, Ray, like it was yesterday.  It is hard to believe it has been the number of years it has been since this incident occurred.  Sometimes incidents happen in the life of an educator that define who you are and what you hope to accomplish in the lives of the children for which we are trusted.  Ray was the central character in this defining incident.

            Ray and his twin sister were growing up in a Hispanic family in our largely Hispanic community.  Ray, being semi-ornery, had built up quite a few “frequent flyer miles” in my office.  The night before this incident had been tough for Ray.  His dad had a particularly bad habit of drinking too much and then taking his anger out on Ray by beating him.  The man that Ray loved more than any other man would usually use his tools to beat Ray – this time a wrench.  One thing led to another and the Social Rehabilitation Service became involved and took Ray out of his home that night and put him into a foster home in our city. 

            The next morning the SRS worker called me to let me in on the situation.  My heart sank.  It gets worse.  I have this little ritual I perform for each of my students as a principal for their birthday.  The ritual started when I started asking kids about how their birthday went the day after their birthday and occasionally I would have a student reply, “My parents forgot.”  Wow…  Anyway, because of that I would take a Little Debbie cake, stick a candle in it, and sing my rendition of “Happy Birthday” poorly to them in front of their friends in the classroom.  Students would act like they disliked this ritual and would often remind me well in advance not to sing to them on their birthday.  It usually would go something like this, “My birthday is two months from today and you had better NOT sing to me… 2^nd hour.”   …And so 2^nd hour it was!  Guess whose birthday was that day.  That’s right – Ray’s.

            I continued doing “important middle school principal things” that morning and forgot to go talk to Ray’s teacher and to Ray.  When class started that morning, Ray’s teacher had no clue what Ray had gone through the night before.  I’m sure you would not be surprised to know that Ray was not all that cooperative that morning.  He had caused some sort of disruption and his teacher was having none of it.  She marched him right down to the back hallway entrance to my office and with a firm grip on his arm, pushed him toward a chair that was in front of my desk.  She told me in front of Ray that he had caused a disruption in her class and that she was in no mood to put up with his shenanigans that day.  You could hear the venom in her voice.  The teacher then marched out of my office and back to the classroom. 

            There sat Ray.  I could see and feel the anger emanating from Ray.  It is amazing how much students can say to us without saying a word if we pay attention.  I could tell he was preparing himself for the wrath of the principal that was about to befall him.  I kept a semi-stern face, looked him in the eye, and said, “Get up and follow me.”

            Ray got up out of the chair and followed me through the office.  I told my secretaries that we were leaving and that I would be back later.  I think one of them replied “Good.”  I still don’t know if that was “good” I was leaving or “good” I’ll be back.  Either way, secretaries pretty much run things in schools and they would survive without me.  Ray and I marched down the back hallway and left the building.  Ray knew he was being suspended.  Why wouldn’t he be.  Everything else was crashing down around him – why not school as well?  We crawled into my ’83 Blazer (I splurged and moved up to an ’88 Blazer recently) and headed on a route that took us past his home, his foster home, and on a path that I knew relatively well – the donut shop.  I’m a big guy and I didn’t get this was for nothing. 🙂

            I told Ray to get out of the car and follow me.  He followed me to the counter and I ordered two Old Fashion donuts and a Diet-Pepsi.  “Balance”… it didn’t work.  I asked Ray what he would like.  He looked up at me and said, “I don’t want nuthin’ from you.”  I ordered Ray two Old Fashion donuts and an orange juice.  I took the tray of “goods” and sat at a table for two that happened to be in the path of the customer traffic coming in and out of the store.  I put Ray’s donuts and drink in front of him and looked at this 12 year-old boy who was in pain sitting across from me.  I then used a semi-stern voice to say “Ray” and then I softened my voice to say “Happy Birthday, Ray.”  No one had remembered.

            Ray broke into tears.  Tears started to come to my eyes as well, but I managed, with a little “eye itching” to hold them back.  Then I did something that I should do a lot more often than I do.  After explaining to Ray that I knew what had happened to him and that I should have come to talk to him and his teacher, I said, “Ray, I am so sorry I didn’t do what I should have done.  Will you forgive me?”  Ray wasn’t exactly used to having his principal ask him for forgiveness and he uttered, “Uh, OK.”  I told the customers as they arrived that today was Ray’s birthday and we were skipping school together.  They would stop and supply the appropriate amount of well wishes for Ray on his birthday and Ray was pretty shy about it at first.  He would shyly reply “Thank you.”   Five minutes later he had gotten over his shyness and would announce in a rather loud voice and a big smile to customers arriving that “today is my birthday and I’m skipping school with the principal!”

            We eventually made our way back out to my old car and drove back to the school.  As we pulled into the parking lot I asked Ray if he would do me a personal favor.  Even though all of this was happening to him, would he behave the way he knew I would like him to behave for the rest of the day?  He replied, “Yes, sir.”  His word was good and furthermore, although he had been a fairly “frequent flyer” before, I didn’t see him again for a discipline referral for the remainder of the year. 

            I learned a couple of lessons from my time with Ray that day.  The first is to give yourself permission to step “outside of the box,” take a risk, and do what is right for that child.  When the teacher brought Ray to the office she wasn’t thinking, “I hope he takes that boy out for some donuts and some love.”  She was thinking more in line with “Beat The Child!”  You will never find this strategy in an educational textbook or manual.  To be quite frank, it wouldn’t work with every child.  Many of the answers that we seek in dealing with children will not be found in an educational text and maybe not advocated by educational “experts,” but they are the right thing at the right time in the right situation.  Ray put me in a position where I had to step out of the box and, in doing that, he taught me a lesson. 

            Another valuable lesson is to allow ourselves to be vulnerable with kids.  Being real and truly allowing ourselves to be vulnerable – to be seen… really seen, is the only way for connection and relationship to authentically occur.  This is not only true for our connections, relationships, and interactions with kids, but it is true in all of our relationships.  Ray would not trust me, would not work through unearned shame, unless I allowed myself to be vulnerable to his acceptance or rejection and to be genuinely REAL. 

            This incident happened my second year as a middle school principal and since then I would like to tell you I have nailed it!  That would be a lie.  I am working hard to grow and love kids the way they deserve, but I have failed at this more times than I have time to write about.  The bottom line is to keep trying.  Keep working to embrace vulnerability.  Keep being real.  If we keep growing as we work on these, our interactions, connection, and relationship with those we come in contact on a regular basis will grow despite our fears of rejection and sometimes shame.

            I am passionate about relationship and connection… with helping our students, teachers, and all that I get to interact with become what one of my favorite authors, Brene’ Brown, calls “whole hearted.”  Trust me… if you choose to continue to read this blog on occasion, you will hear much more about Whole Hearted people and behavior.

“SCRATCH MY KID BEHIND THE EARS”

     The following is an essay I wrote for my staff when I was a middle school principal roughly over a decade ago.  It was right before parent-teacher conferences and I needed to share how important they are to loving, caring, and understanding our kids with a Whole Heart.  The little boy of focus in the story is now a Daddy, Husband,and a Deputy Sheriff.  

I had an opportunity to go to my son Jake’s teacher for a parent-teacher conference.  My wife and I sat down and the teacher gave a heavy sigh, looked at us, and said, “Tell me about Jake.”  Now this kind of took me by surprise.  I was looking forward to hearing from this teacher about Jake’s performance the previous grade period.  Jake had looked forward to going to school each day up to this year and now he was coming home saying, “My teacher doesn’t like me.”

This is a pretty heavy statement coming from a 2nd grade boy.  While Jake did the activities he was supposed to in class and was performing pretty well academically, Jake was pretty “busy.”  I immediately told the teacher that she could probably blame this on genetics.  With my reputation as a slightly hyper principal in another school, she understood.

To be quite frank, I believe that the teacher really didn’t care to have Jake in class.  The way that Jake felt being in that class seven hours a day, there was no way he was going to be a model student.  There was only one way to get Jake to do exactly what you wanted him to do and that was to go straight to his heart.  jake yearns for acceptance.  He needs to be loved.  He lives for praise.  If he is denied these basic human needs he simply shuts down.  He will not respond to what you want.  Yell at him and you lose him.  Treating him poorly, ignoring him, or humiliating him in front of others will cause him to simply draw back further within himself.

Try and imagine going to a job where you received no real pay check, the boss was constantly on you in a negative way, and your positive attributes were never recognized.  How long would you give your maximum effort for this company?

Most people have the same response mechanisms as my late Labrador Retriever, Katy.  katy loved to have her ears rubbed.  If you praised Katy, she would do about anything you wanted.  In my own mind, I like to believe that she understood the words I was saying.  What she really understood was how I was saying them.  She understood my pleasure with her and the love I had for her based on my body language and my tone of voice.  She understood my displeasure the same way.  Since she basically lived for my approval, she would do whatever it took to make sure I approved of her – even when she was very sick and near death.  She would work hard to do what she needed to do to gain my favor.

On her last day on this earth, I took Katy to the veterinarian because she was not responding at all to the treatment he had given her.  katy walked by my side as we entered the office.  She did NOT like to go to the veterinarian, but she did because her main source of praise wanted her to go.  There was another dog in the waiting room.  It was about the size of a good snack for my dog.  I warned her about the other dog and she seemed to understand.  I told Katy to sit.  She did.  I rubbed her ears and neck and told her how good she was.  The veterinarian picked her up and carried her into the examination room and set her on the table.  She was afraid, but calmed down when she felt my familiar touch on her back and face.  Then… she simply died, right there while I was comforting her with my words and a gentle touch.  Her last breath was on me.  She responded to love right to the end.  

As a middle school principal I encourage my teachers to make love a verb in their interaction with kids.  Many of our kids come from environments where love is not practiced in the home.  There may be a parent or two in the home, but they are literally almost orphaned by the lack of care and love.  There is a disease called Erasmus that babies contract in orphanages.  It is fatal.  The way children contract the disease is from the lack of love.  Literally, I mean, the lack of physical, caring contact that goes beyond simply feeding and changing of clothes.  The babies become hopeless and die.  What a terrible thing it would be for students at our school to live in an Erasmus state of mind.  I pray it never happens.

Jake and the rest of my children, all sons, are being trained, not only by my wife and myself, but by the many teachers with whom they will spend countless hours for the rest of their academic career.  I am hoping that most of their teachers will care whether they learn or not.  I can tell them right now that they will respond to love, caring, and understanding.  Love in the classroom is not some mushy feeling – it is a verb. It is demonstrated, as it was to my former pet, by appropriate touching, positive words, constructive feedback, and positive tones of voice.  My three (now four) sons’ academic futures are largely in the hands of the teachers who will mold their dreams and develop their “bag of tools” to give them a world of opportunity.  Whether my sons respond to the teacher is largely up to the teacher and his or her ability to see the need to “scratch my son behind the ears.”  In addition to being extremely tender-hearted, jake is amazingly loyal and would run through a brick wall for anyone who treats him well and praises him when he does what the source of praise wants him to do.  He just glows and works at a whole new level.

As a principal (now a superintendent) I try to model the behavior I want to see.  As a Daddy it is my number two job (right after doing the same for my wife).  My sons’ futures depend upon it.  Teacher… You want to know about Jake?  Please, teacher, “scratch my son behind his ears.”  He’ll be devoted to you for life.

Saddling the Dinosaur

Our kids just amaze me! They are digital natives while I am definitely a digital immigrant. (Being an “immigrant” I’m glad they didn’t throw me out!) They are creating so much that is getting published. I used to dream of being published and they simply publish themselves by a variety of means that I am only beginning to understand. They publish themselves via Facebook, You Tube, Twitter, and so many other ways that are absolutely free! It is true that much of their writing is in 140 character chunks, but… WOW! We used to dream of having our kids WANTING to write. Now they can’t wait! I would dare say that a majority of our kids are more literate in today’s society than the majority of us who have gone through the different levels of academia and ended up with some sort of piece of parchment that says we can “do something.”
“Being Literate”… I tell my staff and students that being literate today is being able to access, analyze, apply, and create using the tools of the time. Have our tools ever changed?! The “Cloud?!?!” What in the world is that!? I’m pretty sure our kids already know. Our kids are accessing information, analyzing it, applying it to whatever new technology or digital process is out there and creating amazing work. They get their books published. They get their films published. Their photography is displayed throughout the world on mediums that reach 500 million people.
While all of this is happening, many of our teachers are preparing for the fall and planning on having our kids write a paragraph about “what I did this summer.” They may follow up by having students write some essays that she or he may have had kids write on for years. The cumulative activity is usually a “term paper” where they can get out note cards and look up information and resources to put on these note cards. Then they can transfer the information they look up (the teacher thinks they are actually looking at hard copy) from the note card and put it into the “term paper.” The truth… our kids have passed up this activity. They would actually love to do this type of activity where they could integrate pictures, movies, words, and other multi-media. That is what they will be doing in the real world. The last “term paper” they will ever write in the manner the teacher wants them to do will be in high school. The colleges and the “real world” are going to expect them to be “literate.” Are we really teaching our kids so that they are “literate” in our world or are we preparing them for a world that is our history. At some point we have to give up teaching the “Saddling of the Dinosaur.” There are so many skills that our kids need to compete in our world that taking time to teach them skills that have no relevance to their future is robbing them of what they need. We no longer purchase “Selectric” typewriters or teach that skill. Our kids are not taught the art of blacksmithing. Its a neat hobby, but we abandoned it because we had to prepare them for their future.
It is our job to engage, excite, and prepare our kids for their future and not our past. They will have to learn to learn. The truth is that they love to learn to learn. They just aren’t thrilled about writing grandma’s term paper or saddling her dinosaur. 🙂

Passion and Play

Passion and Play!  What a great life to live!  I have been challenged to write a blog and I could think of no other topic to focus on than living a life of passion and play.  I pray that all of our students in our school will be equipped and driven to enjoy life.  Over the years, I have experienced that people that are amazing at what they do are almost always passionate about it.  In fact, if you are watching them do what they do so well, it is difficult to tell whether they are working or playing.  In fact, they probably do not really know themselves.

As I spend time with this blog, I will focus on passionate, playful people – especially educators – that touch the lives of all around them.

Thanks for tuning in and more to come!