My friend Helen has a great blog. Today she shared a poem from a website she follows called A Year of Being Here. She used it as a mentor poem to create her own. Then another friend, Annmarie followed and wrote her own. Now it's my turn! First, is the original poem. Mine is below. Click on my friend's names to see theirs. They are great writers. Questions Before Dark
by Jeanne Lohman
Day ends, and before sleep
when the sky dies down, consider
your altered state: has this day
changed you? Are the corners
sharper or rounded off? Did you
live with death? Make decisions
that quieted? Find one clear word
that fit? At the sun’s midpoint
did you notice a pitch of absence,
bewilderment that invites
the possible? What did you learn
from things you dropped and picked up
and dropped again? Did you set a straw
parallel to the river, let the flow
carry you downstream?
Questions Before Dark
by Laurie J. Kemp
Day ends, and before sleep
when the sky dies down, consider
your altered state: has this day
changed you? Are the answers to
your questions near or far? Did you
decide what you want to do? Make decisions
about what to do with the rest of your life? Find one thing
you think you can do forever? At the sun's midpoint
*I wrote and posted this on a different blog in January 2014. Some colleagues requested that I post it here again. At the time, I was a fourth grade teacher and my son was in 9th grade in public school. This will not be a very popular statement. In fact, I am not sure who will lash out at me more, my teacher friends, or my fellow moms (and dads). But here it is: I do not care about grades. If they did not have implications for his acceptance and admission to college, I really would not give a crap what my son's grades were, are, will be. I really do not care much about my students' grades either. Do not mistakenly believe I am not concerned about their progress or their learning. I just do not care what their report cards say. There, I said it.
I assure you my perspective has nothing to do with the softening of young people. I still believe in healthy competition. I do not think all players should get trophies and ribbons just for showing up, or even just for playing hard. I believe some children are smarter than others, some work harder than others, and some perform better than others, but these characteristics are not always in tandem. I think teachers and parents should always expect the best from their children, but they should also know that the result of one person's best may look quite different from another's.
As a parent and teacher I have come to understand how meaningless grades are. Grades do not indicate true learning has taken place. They tell us which students are good at school. And let's face it, just because a child can play the school game does not mean he or she has learned anything other than how to conform and fall in line. I am not suggesting they have learned nothing else, but it is quite possible for kids to do well in school without much in the way of substantial learning. Sure these students learn a powerful lesson about giving people what they want, and there are times in life where we do need to fall in line. But there are far more times when we should stand up and rock the boat. The world needs more boat rockers, but I digress.
Students who are motivated by good grades, usually because of the reactions they get from others. I always loved hearing my parents praise my excellent report cards, and at one time even bragged about my son's straight A's to other family members and friends. Students can find lots of ways to earn A's. Many of them cram and memorize in order to perform well on tests, they cater to their teachers' biases when they complete assignments, some even cheat. It is possible because of sheer intelligence that some of them do not even give that much effort. But I wonder how many of them have actually learned something, and can we do a better job finding out if they have?
One thing has become painfully clear to me as a teacher (and really as a parent too). Kids do not do anything they do not want to do. If they are not motivated to do something, we need to give them a reason to want to do it. For some kids, grades work as a motivator, but for others it does not. So if I do not care about grades, how do I make my son care about grades? Thus far, I have been relatively unsuccessful. In elementary school, my son was the kid who knew half the curriculum before he walked in. He was a good student in that he liked attending school, participated in class discussions and activities, and did well on tests. He even did homework with little argument (except for essay writing). Truth be told, he earned straight A's during those years pretty effortlessly, and we commended him for it with praise and pride. My mom, despite my insistence not to, even gave him a $5.00 bill each time he brought home one of those stellar report cards. Nevermind how little he did to earn it.
Middle school was a different story, because he not only had to show up and participate, he was saddled with minutia such as reading logs (liked to read and good at it, hated keeping a log), homework (sorry folks, but except for math, largely meaningless assignments), and computerized reading tasks in programs in which he pre-tested as a college level reader. His grades, not so hot. At times, they were even alarming. But, here is where I make my point. He was learning. How do I know? All I had to do was eat dinner with him each night, watch a TV program with him, listen to him apply what he learned to things he was reading and doing. He can talk about scientific concepts, techological applications, important moments in history. He memorized a world map for geography class (got 87% on the final), has impeccable grammar, and has an awesome working vocabulary. He reads online incessantly about things that interest him, and teaches himself things by reading and watching YouTube videos. He is one of those kids who drives other kids nuts because he loves standardized test days, because he gets to finish up quickly and take a nap. And of course the added bonus that there is a moratorium on homework and other assignments during testing week thrills him. He has scored near perfect in every subject on them every grade since 3rd. So what do his grades mean? They mean he is a nonconformist. They mean, he understands that he is learning and taking what he wants and needs from school. Through his mom's mom eye, he is a dream, a self-motivated learner. But through his mom's teacher eye, and his own teachers' eyes, he is a challenge, because we know how important those stupid grades are for him to get into college.
High school has been different, clearly he is motivated by how his grades will impact his ability to attend a university with a program of study that interests him. Grades have improved, but it is still a constant struggle for him to show his learning in the way the school system demands. Must he conform? Do I want him to?
This brings me back to my own students. My experience as a mother constantly feeds my decisions as a classroom teacher. I reflect and ask myself questions like, do I really need to collect and grade that? What will it tell me about my students' learning? Is it measuring learning, or is it just a tool for measurement (aka something to put in the gradebook). The problem leads right back to the faults in today's school system. What exactly are we measuring? This obsession with data as a means for holding people accountable feels contrived. When will decision makers understand that real learning, true "real world" learning, means that we can apply learning principles, study habits, literacy skills to learn about the things that are important to us, and use them in our daily lives for work and for pleasure? School collected data and grades will never be able to measure this, and to me this is what will make my students, and my son successful.
As a Doctorate of Curriculum and Instruction, I am a believer that the purpose of education (something I was asked to consider, read about, write about, and reconsider iteratively in grad school) is to enlighten, educate, and develop our youth to become citizens in a democratic society. Whether I agree with the choices and the beliefs of these citizens when they are grown is irrelevant. Our purpose is to help them learn to think and become independent in their views, their search for livelihood and happiness, fulfillment. It is not to prepare them for specific jobs, or to choose their paths, or to grade them on how well they play school. So again, I ask. What's in a grade?
When you become involved with the National Writing Project, one of the very first experiences you have is the invitation to write (aka: invite to write). Here, one of the facilitators of the event presents something of interest to all the participants. It really varies, and can be an excerpt from a book or an article, a song, a video clip, a photograph, an inspirational story or quote, a piece of art. The possibilities for an invite are limitless, as anything can be a prompt for writing, especially when the expectations are open ended. Participants are simply invited to write. What they create in response can vary as greatly as the invitations themselves. Anything is acceptable and nothing is judged or evaluated. Many, maybe even most NWP members, somehow integrate the invite to write in their lives forever after their first encounter with one. Teachers use them with their students, administrators with their faculty, and some, like my writing circle, use them to inspire personal writing. But from time to time, things surface as my own invitations to write. An old song I love, a beautiful landscape I've seen, a strange encounter with a person during the day; these are all my mini invitations to write. Sometimes they arrive daily, or even multiple times a day, and sometimes I can go days or weeks without an invitation. Essentially, these invites might be considered simply by others as ideas for writing. There are times when we want or need invitations from others, and there are times when they come on their own. This one came on it's own...
I love Alanis Morisette. I have, ever since Jagged Little Pill. Who didn't love that album, right? Her real fans though, have other favorites too. JLP was groundbreaking, very different from the other music of its time, but Alanis was more than a flash in the pan and I think I may like Under Rug Sweptjust as much as JLP. It certainly doesn't get as much airplay. Last month my Sirius subscription expired, and I decided not to renew it to see if I missed having satellite radio. I felt like it was going down hill a little, playing a lot of the same music repetitively like regular broadcast radio. Radio in general is pretty sucky, and in lieu of messing with my iPad or phone, I decided to dig out some of my CD's from the center console in my jeep. I have a small eclectic collection in there that gathered over time; James Taylor, Los Lonely Boys, Dixie Chicks, Badlands, Alanis, and a few others. Several of them are in there because I never purchased them on iTunes; why would I pay again when I had the CD's?
Anyway, the other day I got into the car and I chose Alanis. I had both Jagged Little Pill and Under Rig Swept, but opted for the latter for no particular reason. The first song is called "21 Things I Choose in a Lover." Basically, she sings a laundry list of qualities she'd like in her ideal lover. She admits in the lyrics of the song, she doesn't need all the qualities she just prefers them. She sings, "I figure I can describe since I have a choice in the matter. These are 21 things I choose to choose in a lover." Here's one video of a live performance of the song. You can also hear a pretty acoustic version here.
So what about the song? Besides the fact it has some awesome guitar riffing and the assertive bad-ass voice of Alanis, it got me to thinking. She's right. We have choices, and we should be able to set our own criteria for making said choices. For me, it wasn't about my lover, it was about my career and my life, and the choices I make for living. Why don't I have a checklist? How come at work I can have a checklist of criteria for hiring an employee, or completing a task for compliance, but I don't have one for myself for choosing a job or a pastime? Like Alanis, I have a choice in the matter. So by day 3 or 4 of listening to the CD in my car, I found myself singing a Weird Al Yankovic-type song in my head to the melody of 21 Things I Want in a Lover. I played around with various word choice until I was chuckling out loud in the car. I came up with things like:
These are 21 things I choose to do with my spare time...
Read tons of great books shipped free with Amazon Prime
These are 21 things that I want in a career...
Teaching what I know and love to kids without fear
This went on for some time. It's a little funnier if you actually know the song. But admittedly, it's a bit silly. Ultimately, I tried to think of 21 things I'd choose to choose in a perfect job. This is not a dig on my current or previous jobs, just a list. "Not necessarily needs, but qualities that I prefer." I phrased them as questions because that's the way Alanis did it. And before you judge me, or make any snide comments, remember this is if I were to describe a perfect or near-perfect scenario.
Here's what I came up with...
Will I make a difference in the lives of some other people, especially those in need?
Will I like and respect my boss (supervisor)?
Will I be appreciated for my experience and knowledge?
Will I have flexible hours with enough time for other pursuits, both personal and professional?
Will the mission and philosophy of the organization align with my own?
Will I be able to leave for lunch if I choose to?
Will I have time to write?
Will I be able to go home early if my responsibilities have been met that day?
Will I be able to work from home if I feel like it?
Will the people around me (my co-workers) be happy in their jobs and show up to work?
Will I be trusted to try new things?
Will I be able to decorate my own office, choose my furniture and my computer?
Will I make enough money to fulfill my family obligations, save, and go on vacation each year?
Will I have affordable AND good health care for me and my family?
Will I get at least 1-2 weeks off 2 or 3 times per year?
Will I learn enough at my job to feel like I've grown during my time there?
Will the agency/company have internal power rather than being controlled by outside policy?
Will other people want to know how they can join the team I'm on once they know I am there?
Will it be okay for me to take a nap if I get tired?
Will I be proud to tell people I work there?
Will I be able to bring my dog with me if I want to?
There it is, foolish or for real, these are 21 things I choose to choose in a dream job. Not necessarily needs but qualities that I prefer. I figure I can describe since I have a choice in the matter.
Many writers and authors (Is there a difference between the two?) advise others to feed their writing, or "fill the well" so to speak. In other words, we need to read other great writers in order to know what and how to write our own work. I've mulled these words over many times. One of my writing buddies refers to filling the well often, usually when she's taking a short break from writing in order to do some reading. I'm realizing lately, as I've tried to force myself to feel creative, and attempted to will myself to feel inspired, I have been going about it all wrong. Filling the well is about reading, but it's also about living, and experiencing.
Writing is cyclical, in many ways. For example, creating a great piece of writing often yields feelings of productivity and accomplishment. It can be cathartic as in letting out something that has been brewing and growing on its own inside us. When it finally finds its way out in the perfect combination of words with just the right tone and an authentic voice, it is gratifying and at the same time emptying. As writers, we live with our work all the time, everyday until it feels complete. Sometimes it's like the comfort of a close family member, other times it feels like a pesky roommate. When the piece is complete and published, whether informally on a blog or for a personal audience, or officially as in a book or publication, it's gone. As with the pesky roommate, it may be a relief. As with the close family member to whom you've had to say goodbye, it can leave you feeling empty. Sometimes being left with your feelings, bad or good, can inspire a piece of its own. But many times, it will leave the well dry.
Though I write semi-regularly for an otherwise full-time employed person, I had been experiencing dry well for several weeks. Yes, I was producing pieces- a few short poems, a couple of ponderances (apparently that's not really a word) and regular journal writing. But I really stumped myself this past month with a writing prompt I provided to my regular writing circle. You can read some of our work on our new blog, as long as you cut us some slack as we try to get into a groove. I volunteered to get the group going with our first prompt, and I think I may have had the toughest time writing a response. A brief summary: we were challenged to create something with our hands and see what it inspired us to write. There were no rules, just create something with your hands and then write. Wow, I was stumped. You would think, since I was the one to provide it, that I would be chomping at the bit to write. Our survey says:
Can you imagine? I came up with this creative prompt, and it should have been fun but it stressed me out! Now I know why. My well had run dry. I was depleted. I finally produced the piece I needed for the blog. We all made a commitment and I knew it might be tough to get started, but we know we need to write if we want to be writers. I plowed through and turned a struggle I had creating with my hands, into a poem (and another fun piece) about of all things, words. I created experiences rather than things, and it started to fill my well back up a bit. I started to consider how I can continue to refill. I finished a book, started another, and went to a teaching conference. I came back with some new inspiration and a couple of new resources, all which have generated new ideas in the workplace. I started working on the syllabus for a course I'm teaching at the local university this fall, and I started to feel the level in the well begin to rise.
Fast forward to yesterday, when I was riding in a car and reading an article on a mobile app, and I found the inspiration for something I have been waiting to materialize in a meaningful iteration for months. A seed that blew through with a breeze months before was starting to germinate. This morning, Sunday, often the only day if any at all I can sleep in and leisurely get out of bed when I'm ready, I was awoken by a proverbial flood of thoughts. The well is filling up. Why? Because instead of sitting around waiting for inspiration, instead of expecting that because I scheduled time to write, the writing would come, I was out living! Filling the well is reading, and living, and loving, and experiencing. If we're not out creating meaningful experiences in our lives and observing the lives of others, how can we expect to have anything to draw from when it's time to write?
My epiphany is this. If there's nothing coming to the pen, the pencil, the keyboard, go out and read something, or do something. Take in some nature or spend time with friends. Go on a trip or experience something new. Read a book you once loved as though you never read it before. The level of the well will once again rise, and the ideas will come. And when they do, a new piece of writing will come. Then the well will drain once again, and it will be time to get out there once more.
I feel better than I have in months about my writing and I'm looking forward to a productive couple of months. Look out world, here I come!
I'm an introvert. It may not be obvious to those who know me, but it's true.
Never is this more obvious to me than when I'm at a party. Like right now. I am at a party with about a hundred people, and I'm sitting on the porch, by myself, blogging from my phone. I mean I hate it. I'm not much of a drinker, and I'm not adept at striking up conversation with strangers. Or maybe I just don't want to talk to people I don't know. That could be it.
It's weird. Put me in a room in a professional environment, and I'll talk about work and education until I'm blue in the face or you're bored out of your mind. I can do that. Put me on a stage, to give a speech in front of hundreds or even thousands of people. I can do that. I just don't want to make small talk. I don't want to socialize. I'd rather be reading or writing or listening to my own choice of music.
I used to not be able to admit this. In fact, I think I even thought of myself as lame for not liking parties. I didn't go to many in high school. It wasn't that I didn't have friends. I had a tight knit group of friends, I was a cheerleader (Ugh, I can't believe I'm sharing that publicly), and my last two years of high school I had a boyfriend. But parties were never my thing. I did have a brief period of time in college during which I attended lots of frat parties and other non-Greek social gatherings. I think it's because in college there was no happy medium. It was kind of like go to a party or sit alone in my dorm room. My friends would never have allowed the latter... at least not in my first two years.
Eventually though, maybe because I was in a serious relationship with my soon to be husband, it got old. I was much more content to hang out with my best college buddy and play Scrabble and watch Donna Reed repeats. It's ok, you can think we're lame. I wouldn't trade those nights for the world. Out of them came a friendship that remains as important to me today as it was then.
Now, there's nothing I enjoy more on a Friday or Saturday night, or even a holiday, than a nice meal at home or in a quiet restaurant, with my family or a couple of close friends. So on Independence Day, while the hundred or so gather outside to set the sky on fire with fireworks, I'll stay here on the porch, catch whatever I can, and wait to be alone again with a book or my journal.
