Motto for Schools: Expect the end of the world. Laugh.

I read this Wendell Berry poem and thought: who needs a toothless school mission statement? We need poets, artists, and those with dirt under their nails to inform education and our perceived ends.

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"Love the quick profit, the annual raise,
vacation with pay. Want more
of everything ready-made. Be afraid
to know your neighbors and to die.

And you will have a window in your head.
Not even your future will be a mystery
any more. Your mind will be punched in a card
and shut away in a little drawer.

When they want you to buy something
they will call you. When they want you
to die for profit they will let you know.
So, friends, every day do something
that won’t compute. Love the Lord.
Love the world. Work for nothing.
Take all that you have and be poor.
Love someone who does not deserve it.

Denounce the government and embrace
the flag. Hope to live in that free
republic for which it stands.
Give your approval to all you cannot
understand. Praise ignorance, for what man
has not encountered he has not destroyed.

Ask the questions that have no answers.
Invest in the millenium. Plant sequoias.
Say that your main crop is the forest
that you did not plant,
that you will not live to harvest.

Say that the leaves are harvested
when they have rotted into the mold.
Call that profit. Prophesy such returns.
Put your faith in the two inches of humus
that will build under the trees
every thousand years.

Listen to carrion — put your ear
close, and hear the faint chattering
of the songs that are to come.
Expect the end of the world. Laugh.
Laughter is immeasurable. Be joyful
though you have considered all the facts.
So long as women do not go cheap
for power, please women more than men.

Ask yourself: Will this satisfy
a woman satisfied to bear a child?
Will this disturb the sleep
of a woman near to giving birth?

Go with your love to the fields.
Lie down in the shade. Rest your head
in her lap. Swear allegiance
to what is nighest your thoughts.

As soon as the generals and the politicos
can predict the motions of your mind,
lose it. Leave it as a sign
to mark the false trail, the way
you didn’t go.

Be like the fox
who makes more tracks than necessary,
some in the wrong direction.
Practice resurrection."
— Wendell Berry

Are Tables Really Smart?

There is something wonderful about breaking school social norms--not the norms about keeping kids safe, but the ones that really don't make sense. I've started doing math on my table. Students are a bit taken back by it at first and usually say, "Is that allowed?"

There is nothing magical about doing math on my table, however it does seem to open up possibilities for group work, mistake making, and ultimately reasoning. Who needs a smart table, when the kids sitting around a regular table are smart? Try it. A few markers and a cloth are all that's need.

Almost Resignation of a Fifth Year Teacher

I had a hard year. It doesn't feel that hard right now, with only a week left of school. It was hard for lots of reasons, however after reading back in my journal, I realized just how close I was to calling it quits. Here is an excerpt from my journal:

Why I am Done?

I like metaphors. Here's one: being a teacher is like being in a room full of baby whales. They don't really know what they want, so they flop around on the floor until someone gives them what they "need". The horrible thing is that each day the thing(s) changes--the thing that they need or want changes. So they flop around and break things. They have broken me. I will admit it. I wear pink and they broke me. I am not good at building steal cages to protect myself--well I almost became a welder, so i guess I could. Maybe the thing is I am not willing to spend anymore time placating the beasts. It is not worth it. You know I was willing to wait out the infant stage, until one day I saw it happen. You will never believe it. I saw a new whale being born and it was eaten by the other baby whales. I suppose that by eating the newborn, they somehow stay babies themselves.

I am a bit embarrassed for being so dramatic, but that is how I felt. I remember feeling alone, misunderstood, and angry--my skin is a bit tougher now (love covers all)--the weight of helping kids learn, making everyone happy, getting my master's degree, being a father, being a husband, being a friend, being a being, being a learner....got to me. It felt so heavy. I snapped out of it, I think.

It is funny that without this short journal entry reminder, I would have not stopped to reflect on how good a year it really has been. The way I grew as a teacher/learner...as a human. I contributed to justice making in the world by helping kids access tools and find their voices. The "I" really should be a "we." Our school is changing and I am changing with it

The Prezi Response

I was reading a post on The Number Warrior about tilting number lines. The post asks the question, "is the left-to-right number line the best?" The case is made that some see numbers on lines in different ways.  People with synesthesia are notable examples of the phenomena.  The Number Warrior speculated that maybe alternate positioning of the number line may help students learn.  One commenter suggested that students might have a difficult time with that when they started using planes and Cartesian coordinate systems.  I disagreed with the comment and started typing a response and then I thought, "what if I prezi-ed my response?" So that is what I did.  The number line prezi was fun to make and I think it could be a nice conversation starter. I will post about what happens.

Google Earth and Justice?

I've been using my web cam to reflect on lessons (usally I walk down the hall talking to a computer). It is interesting how google earth could raise issues of justice. I'm wondering if we don't teach students to access/use current tools will that make us complicit in the achievement gaps and learning inequalities. I'm working on make the reflection meaningful for me, but in an effort to share learning and thinking I will post a few of the reflections here.

Google Earth and Access

Dante was Right?

I wrote this poem as a way to test extremes in language.

I live in paradise but work in hell.
Not Dante’s kind of hell--all leveled up
or down. The kind which
rubs dreams raw and ricochets hope.

Maybe hell is too strong? Maybe I work
in pain, like a Van Gogh painting chained to
colored sky lines covering a churches spire.
I'm not cutting anything off, just yet.

However, would I or could I sever
The hell-pain sources or whatever it
is. It would be simple, fierce--like for like.
But, what would I sever? Ideas, dreams, thoughts?

Ah, hell-pain seems to come from me. Flowing
by rivers of ideas which grind the
joints of my brain. Its not so bad, really.
It could be worse. I might be content.

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