Author: Mr. Chase

Things I Know 10 of 365: I’m in the market for hype

Don’t believe the hype…

– Public Enemy

As my grandfather opened his gift, my little brother looked on.

His mother had wrapped it.

Not quite sure what was within the paper, Taylor tolerated the delicate way my grandfather pulled at the tape so as not to tear the paper unnecessarily.

More Christmas presents were in the offing, and that expectation was at war with the manners engrained in my brother.

Finally, a speck of orange peaked from an opening in the paper.

“What!” Taylor yelled.

I had no idea what was going on.

“Oh my gosh, Zachary. ShamWow!”

And he was correct.

My grandfather finished unwrapping his set of chamois cum towel cum sponge. Taylor went ballistic.

“Awwww! I hope I get some too!” And he meant it.

Taylor had bought in to the hype.

It was hard to blame him.

In my early years of teaching, the ShamWow guy was a staple of mealtime conversation.

A towel that can hold up to “12X its weight in liquid?” How does that not inspire a deperate public?

A few minutes later, in a box three times the size necessary, Taylor’s 11-year-old dreams came true. His own set of ShamWow…eh…ShamWows…

“Can we go spill something?”

“Sure,” said his mother and he and my sister Kirstie were off to the kitchen.

It’s been a while since I’ve purchased stock in hype.

I bought some during the 2008 presidential election. But, like many stocks since then, that hype has lost its worth.

Still, I’m thinking of getting back in the market.

A former superintendent of D.C. schools started selling some hype today. Says she’s got the answers to education. It sounded pretty shiny. If I learned anything from my last purchase, though, it’s to be suspicious of those who have more answers than questions.

My next hype won’t be seen on TV. It won’t issue press releases. It won’t ask for my money. My next hype will require an initial payment of hope and  follow-up payments of constant accountability.

When I find my next hype, it will even outshine the German engineering of the ShamWow.

Classy: Communal notes in gDocs

As I’ve written, Google Apps for Education is truly changing my practice this year.

We’re studying Jung’s idea of archetypes as they pertain to literature in my Sexuality & Society in Literature class. For an introduction, today, we read a simple introduction.

While the students were reading, I took my notes on key information and put them in a new gDoc.

On the side, I included comments on the ideas found in the notes. (We’ve been working on summarizing before offering up commentary.)

When the class was done reading, I had them close their computers and share their initial thinking on the ideas from the write-up. It was slow going. One of those moments where I can see the bigger picture and am thereby inherently more excited about the ideas we’re investigating.

When it felt like the conversation had reached critical mass, I moved to the screen and pulled up my gDoc of notes.

I pointed out that I’d included the title of the article (linked to the original text), author information, my name and notes on the key ideas, and notes containing my thinking and questions.

From there, I set them free to find more information with the directive of “build notes about archetypes in literature that work to answer our questions.”

The link to the editable gDoc was posted on the class moodle page. They logged in and started building notes.

As they built, I asked questions via the commenting tool to prod their individual investigation.

In the doc’s chat sidebar, I asked questions of the entire class to make sure our notes took on greater breadth.

Soon, the class will be writing essays with the help of their notes. Because of what they’re building, they’ll have the benefit of many minds as points of reference.

Next semester, when I’m teaching Storytelling, I’ll be able to produce the gDoc to introduce archetypes in conjunction with The Hero’s Journey.

Here’s what I didn’t do:

  • I didn’t build a wiki. I’m not interested in worrying about architecture, and a wiki would have required more click-throughs than seemed logical.
  • I didn’t have them blog. Though I’m making the work public here, the notes were meant for in-class use. Additionally, I wanted everything to live in the same place. While a common tag would have allowed the gathering of the posts, it wouldn’t serve the purpose of notes.
  • I didn’t use a discussion forum. The goal was putting the information in one place and allowing for the common culling of ideas. A discussion forum would have, again, required clicks. As the ideas within the students’ courses found connections at different points, threading discussion would have limited the intertextual connectivity of the reading.
  • I didn’t use guided notes. With the goal of exploration and investigation of dynamic concepts, guided notes would have put the onus on me and prevented one student’s uncovering of the periodic table of archetypes.

Though not perfected, this approach will be one I take again.

Things I Know 9 of 365: Words have power

Sticks and stones can break my bones, but words can kill my soul.

Leaving the locker room after P.E. in the ninth grade, Brian and Travis would call me faggot under their breaths.  I wasn’t sure how they could tell, but I learned to be ashamed of what they saw. Though I made sure to avoid P.E. for the rest of high school, I carried remnants of their words and the shame it caused for many years.

When my sister Rachel was in middle school, she came home in tears one day because her teacher refused to acknowledge that I was Rachel’s brother. “Half-brother,” the teacher insisted to my sister who could not understand why this woman would be so cruel.

December 18, the United States Senate debated the DREAM Act. Those opposed to its passage spoke in angry and fearful voices of the threat those affected would pose to our country. Casting about blanket statements, they maligned my friends and my students. They put politics ahead of the future of children.

In 1884 Mark Twain published a book. Originally intended as a sequel to The Adventures of Tom Sawyer, this new book changed course around “Chapter 7” and became an imperfect navigation of Twain’s attempt to reconcile the slavery he witnessed as a child and the abolitionist views of his childhood.

As it is as imperfect as anything a person can create, Adventures of Huckleberry Finn has been the cause of much controversy as of late because it also carries within it one of the great imperfections of America’s past. Some would remove the remembrance of that past rather than see it as a signpost denoting the road ahead.

That road was lit by the terrible light of tragedy Saturday as a gunman opened fire at a Tucson supermarket causing a grief the extent of which we will not know for some time.

If reports are to be believed, the gunman was heeding the words of those seeking power. And, while I need to believe their intent was not to incite violence, I cannot yet forgive their ignorance that their words carried power.

It was the terrible power with which Brian and Travis were experimenting in ninth grade.

It was the extraordinary power my sister’s teacher unknowingly wielded in her determination to be right.

It was the backwardly fearful power with which the Senate cut short the dreams of those striving to make a life in a country of their fate if not their choice.

It was the hateful power Twain chronicled when he invoked one of America’s most poisonous words.

This was the violent power wielded by those who would have power without recognizing the catastrophic effect potential in that which they already command.

In the intervening hours, much has been written about the harmful political rhetoric. We are fooling ourselves if we do not concede government’s representation of its citizens ends with the casting of votes. This rhetoric lives in our schools, our businesses, our friendships and anywhere else words hold sway.

Tomorrow, I will return to my classroom and attempt to further fortify a green zone of words with hopes that I am preparing those in my care to act as ambassadors of speech, using words to build while ever-mindful of their ability to destroy.

Things I Know 8 of 365: Perspective is powerful

Life is a long lesson in humility.

– J.M. Barrie

“Gramma, my baby is turning 17.” My mother to my great-grandmother as my 17th approached.

“Oh, sweetie, my baby just turned 75.”

Perspective is powerful.

I’m finding it difficult to muster the initiative to complete the pedagogically disagreeable grad program to which I was awarded a scholarship.

A former student and first-generation college student is struggling to keep their financial aid for the second semester because of the negligence of an absentee parent.

Perspective is powerful.

SLA must work each year to scrape together the funding to keep our laptop program afloat.

Teachers in the Suba School District of Mbita Kenya must work each day against the spread of HIV/AIDS, teen pregnancy and longstanding negative views about the relative worth of women to keep their female students enrolled in school.

Perspective is powerful.

A friend of mine is working to balance their personal life, professional life and intrapersonal life. It’s proving a frustrating endeavor.

My best friend Katy’s sister’s fiance dropped their “Save The Date” notes in the mail Tuesday morning on his way to work. Ten minutes later, his car was T-boned when going through an intersection.

He’s in the hospital, unconscious under heavy sedation.

Yesterday, he responded to stress stimuli for the first time.

Today is his birthday.

I shared what’s going on with Katy’s family with my friend struggling with balance.

“I need to get over myself,” she said.

Perspective is powerful.

Things I Know 7 of 365: I can’t curse

Go ahead and swear—it might make you feel better…

– Jeffrey Hill, The English Blog

Words amaze me.

They always have.

Every once in a while, one of my students will ask me if I always knew I wanted to be an English teacher.

In my youngest years, I wanted to be an artist or a stand-up comedian.

In eighth grade, I picked a profession that gave me the better parts of both of those options.

I’ve been teaching for 8 years.

And, for as much as I am able to master and throw around words, one set has always given me trouble.

I can’t curse.

I blame my upbringing.

Every once in a while, my mom would let loose with a “You little shit,” but even then it was full of incredulity of me beating her at a game of Scrabble.

That’s a lie.

I never beat my mom at Scrabble.

When I got to college, I decided that part of the requisite re-inventing of myself would be taking ownership of the lexicon that had eluded me for so long.

Every once in a while, I’d throw out an f-bomb or some derivative thereof.

Usually, this was surrounding the playing of Mario Kart on the Gamecube.

After about a month, through a friendervention, I was asked to stop.

“You just can’t pull it off,” they told me.

“You’re too nice.”

It would have been the perfect moment to prove them wrong, but I couldn’t.

Just before winter break, one of my classes was studying Steven Chbosky’s The Perks of Being a Wallflower.

I was reading it aloud.

At the top of one class, a student approached me, “Please don’t read the cuss words, Mr. Chase.”

Worried I’d offended him, I asked why not, if everything was ok.

“Oh, yeah. I love the book. I just don’t like to think of you saying those words.”

I’d been found out.

I’ve tried a few experiments in the intervening weeks.

On the phone with a friend, I’ll drop in a curse word in place of the adjective I’d actually been thinking.

The conversation has proceeded normally. Then, I collect data.

“Hey, do you remember when I cursed?”

“Huh?”

“A few minutes ago, I cursed. Do you remember that?”

“Oh. Sure. Yeah.”

“Good. Did it sound authentic?”

“What?”

“When I cursed, did it sound like someone who knows how to curse?”

“Um, I guess so.”

“Awesome.”

I’m getting better.

Still, I’ve had to come to the conclusion that, like French, this is a language I’ll likely never master.

I listen to the lady a few doors down yelling at our neighbors on the weekends and wonder at the brush with which she draws from her diverse pallet of expletives.

She is a foul-mouthed Jedi, and I envy her.

She’s Lenny Bruce, Sandra Bernhard and every episode of The Wire rolled into one.

Faced with unsatisfactory answers in conversation, she constructs linguistic cannons from her canon of vulgarity.

I’d be reduced to reason and likely get nowhere.

Still, I’m working on it – working damned hard.

…I’ve a long way to go.

Things I Know 6 of 365: I am loved

You are the bows from which your children
as living arrows are sent forth.

– Kahlil Gibran, The Prophet

I’ve always known I’m loved.

Always.

Though my parents divorced when I was very young and I’ve never seen their relationship toward one another as a warm one, I was always neutral territory.

For all they disagreed on, they agreed on loving me.

Writing those words seems silly to me.

Of course I was loved. Of course my parents and grandparents and aunts and uncles told me.

And yet, in movies and books, there are moments of revelation where the protagonist’s mother or father (usually father) says, “I love you,” and the protagonist admits it’s the first time this has occurred.

I’ve read or watched more of these moments than I know.

Not until recently, did it strike me that this might not be a fictional device akin to time travel or a cloak of invisibility.

There are children who never actually hear their families tell them they are loved.

Odds are I teach some of them.

Certainly, I could assuage the sadness of this statement by telling myself these children are shown they are loved.

It’s not the same.

My grandmother was showing me she loved me when she read me just one more story at bedtime. The act was exponentially magnified, however, when she said, “And I will always love you – no matter what.”

I knew it was true the way I knew it was true when any other adult in my family admitted I was the recipient of their unconditional love.

Without doubt, it built me to the person I am today.

Because this is my paradigm, I am still struggling with the idea any adult could resist telling the children in their care how much they love them.

I get to spend only an hour with these kids and cannot help but wonder at who they are and all they can do. I can’t imagine how anyone could be keeping their love for these people to themselves.

If any children, no matter how old, doubt they are loved, I want to believe that some adult will intervene and tell them the truth that has been so often told to me.

Would you do that, please?

Things I Know 5 of 365: We need more letters of recommendation

We can’t always be happy. In fact, in the midst of our trials or others’ hardships it is not healthy to be happy. With a big movement in “positive affirmation” and “authentic happiness” currently in mainstream thought, it can seem that if we are not happy, we must be living our life wrong somehow.

– Gloria DeGaetano

Striving for Dr. John Gottman’s ratio of 5:1 for positive to negative interactions is a lofty goal. A fairly positive person, I certainly have moments when I’m more likely to respond with snark than kindness.

This is why I love letters of recommendation. Even last fall, when I had to write for 20 academic advisees and almost as many English students, I thoroughly enjoyed the process.

Letters of recommendation do more than compliments. They ask us to sit and think about the positives of those with whom we have relationships and not only think of their positive attributes, but build context around those attributes as well. We’re shaping a narrative to show how the recommended has earned our esteem throughout our regular, mundane interactions.

It’s an ultimate act of reflection asking us to gather up all those moments of positive interaction that have likely gone unnoticed and put them in a story of merit.

I like to picture a world where people write letters of recommendation in the same way news programs produce celebrity obituaries – amassing an archive of letters and culling our experiences at regular intervals to keep them updated and ready for submission at a moment’s notice.

Perhaps it would look something like this:

To Whom It May Concern:

It is my pleasure to offer my recommendation on behalf of Patrick Higgins, Jr. Patrick’s dogged approach to his own professional development shines through in all aspects of the work he does on behalf of the students and teachers he serves. His creativity, dedication and thoughtfulness will make Patrick an invaluable addition to any organization fortunate to bring him on board.

I first met Patrick three years ago when presenting at an educational technology conference. Slotted to present at the end of the day, Patrick faced an uphill battle in engaging a crowd that was tired and already gorged on ideas. Equal to the task, Patrick organized his session in the way I would hope any teacher would. He asked his audience to participate, to move, to interact, to communicate and to listen. What could easily have been an hour and a half of lethargy and apathy was one of energy and thoughtfulness.

In his role working with teachers in his district, Patrick has continually impressed me as he reflects on his practice in his writings on his blog. Celebrating his successes, Patrick is also the first to admit his shortcomings and work to better understand how they can be prevented in the future. Throughout numerous posts, one sees how he constantly searches for new ideas to integrate into his own and ultimately improve his practice.

While Patrick’s blog may serve as a public gallery of his internal reflection, make no mistake – he is a creature of collaboration. More than once, an instant message or Skype conversation with Patrick has led to a discussion of the ideas one of us is working with. I can think of no conversation with Patrick that hasn’t included the pushing of my thinking or him welcoming the pushing of his own thoughts.

I would be remiss to conclude without including an aspect of Patrick’s character that is key in my estimation. Whether an informal conversation, a training session with a room of strangers, or speaking of his own family, Patrick approaches all whom he interacts with a genuine ethic of care and intent to understand. Of Patrick, a colleague once recently remarked, “He is quite simply a good person.” No more needs be said on the topic.

For all of the reasons above, I am honored to offer my recommendation on behalf of Patrick Higgins, Jr. He is a person of superb character, thought and professionalism.

Sincerely,

Zachary Chase

Now you write one.

Classy: Bringing silly and embracing unsatisfactory

In the eyes of the over-trained, I was an unsatisfactory teacher for a good long time today.
My instructions to my junior English classes sounded something like this, “I’m going to give you five minutes. Talk to your team members about the high and low points of your break. Also, talk about what you’d like to get out of the first half of 2011.”
That was it.
At the end of five minutes, no one was held responsible for doing something with the information they just gained. No one reported out.
It gets better.
The next instruction, “You have two minutes to come up with a team cheer.”
Two minutes later, the class watched as each of the 8 teams of four performed their cheers.
A personal favorite, “My name is Jeff and I invite you to experience the bountiful garden that is Team 7.”
It was a good 10 minutes of class.
I left out the opening. I left out the new material. I left out the guided and independent practice. No objective was on the board. All told, I was fairly unsatisfactory.
I don’t care.
My students got new seats today. Many of them are sitting with kids with whom they might not otherwise socialize. For 10 minutes, they took time to get to know one another, to collaborate with their new team to create something without academic penalty and to present as a group something that built a collective identity.
And, to practice being silly.
For the rest of the class, focused research on a writing project with the potential to create positive change in their communities.
For 10 minutes, though, pure, unsatisfactory silliness.

Things I Know 4 of 365: I am a kitchen dancer

I am satisfied … I see, dance, laugh, sing.

– Walt Whitman, Leaves of Grass

I don’t chaperone dances at SLA.

One was enough for me.

The Monday after, I was still reeling from the spectacle of what I’d seen the Friday before.

These were my students. They were my charges – my brilliant angels. Well, maybe not. Still, I was responsible for helping them to realize the power of words, the diverse and divergent lineage of the world’s great thinkers.

What I witnessed on the dance floor, I could not rectify with the versions of my students I’d come to know.

I was expecting the awkward bumblings of the dances of my youth – the clumsy first drafts of the kinetic poetry dance can become.

I attempted to explain this to them. I accused them of not having any poetry in their souls. Their mouths hung agape at my ignorance.

Other teachers confirmed my it. This, I was assured, was how high schoolers danced. Post modernism had taken over even the poetry of dance.

I felt 100 years old.

Dance was always a million miles away from possible when I was growing up.

Those who could dance, like my best friend Travis, appeared to have some access to the mystical rhythm I was never meant to know.

Seriously, who teaches these things?

Much of my school dance biography tells the story of guard of the punch or the kid propping up the gymnasium wall.

This wasn’t how my people danced.

The dancing I was used to and which I was brought up on was kitchen dancing. While the spaghetti cooked or the meatloaf baked, we were kitchen dancers.

If the ideal of dancing, with the capital “D”, in my mind is the mobile version of Leaves of Grass, kitchen dancing is A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man…scat version.

It is reckless abandon of invoking the joy of the day. There is hopping, and weaving and flailing of appendages. It’s not pretty, but it is beautiful.

If you ever visit, I’ll teach you.

The other night, in the midst of preparing dinner, I frightened my dog and commenced a kitchen dance solo.

The song was unimportant. My frenetic ballet was a reminder of what my day had brought me, the meal to come and the days to follow. It was nod to the excitement inherent in being alive. And, it was a check-in to see if I still had it. You have to keep in practice with these things.

Yeah, I’ve got moves.

Classy: Journaling with choice

Having kids write is important.
Shocking, right?
According to a April 2008 report from the Pew Internet & American Life Project, “Eighty-six percent of teens believe good writing is important to success in life — some 56% describe it as essential and another 30% describe it as important.”
It’s nice when the kids are on our side.
Parents are on our side as well –  “Eighty-six percent of teens believe good writing is important to success in life — some 56% describe it as essential and another 30% describe it as important.”
Unfortunately, the kids say our writing instruction is not alright.
“Overall, 82% of teens feel that additional in-class writing time would improve their writing abilities and 78% feel the same way about their teachers using computer-based writing tools.”
I’m trying to work on this.
Aside from the various “bigger” writing projects I ask of students, I’m a huge proponent of journaling.
My journaling practice has evolved over time. It started as I was taught to journal by Mrs. Haake; a prompt was on the board and they responded to it.
Turns out, the tools at my disposal give me more options.
Here are the frequent options:

  • Use the picture for inspiration (always an image pulled from creative commons-licensed flickr archives).
  • Listen to the song on repeat for inspiration (generally connected, at least tacitly, to whatever we’re reading or discussing in class).
  • Watch this video (a few times) and respond.
  • Respond to this quotation.
  • Free write.

Variations, of course, exist.
The last option is universally on the table. My students come to me from somewhere. It’s easy to forget.
Allowing freewriting allows them to unpack whatever they carry with them into the room.
Journaling can be drawing, journaling can be poetry, journaling can be lists.
The rules:

  1. Write.
  2. Don’t think.
  3. Write.

I don’t read the journals. Scratch that, I don’t make sharing journal entries compulsory. If a student wants to, he or she leaves his journal in a designated location and I read only the last entry. I promise them that’s all I’ll read. If they trust me, they’ll share. If they don’t, they won’t. If they don’t, I work harder.
Here is today’s prompt:

One final finding:

Teens who enjoy their school writing more are more likely to engage in creative writing at school compared with teens who report very little enjoyment of school writing (81% vs. 69%). In our focus groups, teens report being motivated to write by relevant, interesting, self-selected topics, and attention and feedback from engaged adults who challenged them.

So, choice, relevance and discussion. Shocking, right?