I See Scotties

“We see things not as they are, but as we are.”

--Henry Major Tomlinson

Some of my favorite activities on a warm, cloudy day are taking our dogs for walks, going on bike rides, and just sitting out on our deck, all which provide me the opportunity to lose myself in the clouds. They mesmerize me as much as I am captivated by the ocean waves when I have the opportunity to vacation on the beach. When I gaze up at the sky, however, I can’t help but see creatures and objects, especially when the sky is filled with billowing, cottony, flowing designs. In particular, I can’t help but see Scotties! Silly as it may seem, I’m filled with delight as I picture my beloved Mr. Gus rollicking overhead, signaling me that he is not only just fine in his doggy afterlife but also making me smile as I spot him romping above me. Today was one of those days when, no matter what cloud I examined and no matter how much each cloud transformed, there was Gus in all his orneriness—once even playfully making a new friend by sniffing another Scottie’s behind. I’d like to think that Gus is hovering over our homestead these days to send his “happy birthday” greeting to his former playmate, Dharma, our dachshund, who is turning 16 at the end of the month.

At the same time, it’s not only in the clouds where I find my old four-legged friend, as I can just as easily see Gus in the outline of a bush or tree, in a complex crack in the pavement, in the shape of a partially eaten piece of toast, and more. Crazy, but true! No matter the explanation—whether I’m still grieving that feisty little terrier or simply because Scotties make me smile—I know that I see Scotties simply because I want to see Scotties! In other words, my brain works with my emotions to produce something that I want. Mission accomplished!

Likewise, I believe our brain works in the same way in different venues and activities—sometimes not for the best. For example, I want to believe only what’s good about my friends and most (just trying to be honest) of my family, so I might easily overlook one of their flaws because I don’t want to believe they are capable of doing any wrong. (As teachers, we’ve all dealt with those types of parents, and I publicly apologize for being one myself upon occasion.) Similarly, I might blindly trust someone so deeply with my private feelings or risk expressing my innermost beliefs only to learn that they have been passed on to someone else. Even when two people witness the same event, their take on what happened can be quite different, perhaps depending upon what they want to see—for example, whether or not that team member did, indeed, step out of bounds or commit a foul.

Furthermore, as a generalization, this phenomenon could explain why we might be prone to misinterpret emails or make illogical inferences about body language. On that note…don’t misinterpret what I’m saying—I’m making no judgments here, as we’ve all likely been on both sides of these situations; plus, I’m not holding on to unrealistic expectations that anyone should—or could—be perfect. Finally, I know I’m stating nothing new or profound. At the risk of cliché, it is what it is—only it may not be what is at all!

As I now re-examine those clouds, I see that the sky is completely overcast, and Gus must have gone elsewhere, perhaps to visit my mom or to play with his doggy siblings that preceded him in that dog park in the sky. He may be taking his afternoon nap or basking in a pond of treats and squeaky toys. Even so, I can say today has been a good one because I was able to spend some much needed time exactly as I wanted—with my Scotties in the clouds!

My Journey Through Due Process

Reflecting on the past weekend with the Kansas legislature voting in a new school finance package, which includes stripping teachers of due process, I am sad, disgusted, and angry. And I won’t even waste time trying to explain the difference between having tenure, which Kansas teachers do not have, and having due process, which Kansas teachers will no longer have if—and probably when—our governor signs the bill into law. Granted, anyone can provide a list of reasons explaining why teachers need due process; however, although I’m now retired from the K-12 public school system, I’d like to share my personal list of reasons because there’s a great likelihood that, without my having had due process beginning with my fourth year in the classroom, I may not be able to claim today that I’m in my 41^st year of teaching in the state of Kansas.

Without due process, I may have been unwilling to maintain high standards in the classroom. For example, as an English teacher, I occasionally had to deal with students cheating on assignments. I’ve always considered there to be four options when dealing with cheating: 1) Give a zero. Period. 2) Give a zero but provide an opportunity for the student to do the assignment over. 3) Give the student a warning not to cheat again—a hand slap, if you will. 4) Ignore the situation because dealing with the student and his/her parents is too much of a hassle. Usually, I opted for #2, meaning that I was usually in for a hassle every time. In the worst instance, I dealt with an extremely popular and capable student cheating on a book report with one of her friends. When I responsibly called home, her father, who was obviously ready for my call, responded loudly, angrily, and obscenely, falsely accusing ME of inappropriate behavior. My shock was on several levels as this was not just any parent, but one who was a respectable dentist in the small community in which I taught. Fortunately, my principal backed me; however, another principal might not have done so. In fact, another principal might have been a best friend with that parent, or worst yet, that principal—or my superintendent or a school board member—could have been the parent of the child who cheated. Without due process, the risk might have been too great for me to confront all involved, causing me to skip to option #4. On that same note, depending upon who the student and parents are or what the relationships are between those parents and my administrators, I could be influenced when I give grades, serve on scholarship committees, lead the selection process for cheerleading or the school musical, or submit eligibility reports on student athletes. Without due process, the results of these decisions might not have mirrored which students, indeed, earned these honors.

Without due process, I may not have been able to advocate for my students. On a professional level, I will be so bold as to say that I’ve ignited a spark in hundreds of students by inspiring them to love reading and writing. Leading students to books that interest them, despite the controversy of subjects and language, I’ve found ways to give students credit for those readings in my courses; likewise, in teaching years of high school creative writing, I’ve made no topics—or language—off limits. (Students did have parameters in reading language aloud, however.) Without due process, I would have felt a need to place more restrictions on reading and writing, thus, smothering some students’ passions and curiosities that I’m confident played a big role in the completion of many high-quality assignments. Without due process, I may have refused to answer innocent yet sensitive questions that students asked during the reading of Romeo and Juliet, such as “What’s a maidenhead?” or students’ defiant questions, such as “What’s wrong with saying ‘That sucks'"? Instead, I provided straightforward, whole-class explanations.  And on a more personal level, despite the law that requires teachers to report issues of abuse and sexual harassment, without due process, I may not have mustered the courage to make some of those reports considering whose parents I accused. Especially, I might not have had the courage to walk into my principal’s office to report inappropriate behavior I witnessed between a student and one of my colleagues. Even when I knew I would be ostracized by some of my peers for making such a report, at least I knew, with due process, my job wouldn’t be threatened for doing what was right.

Without due process, I might have been more severely penalized—or even fired—for making a few mistakes in my four decades in dealing with students, administrators, and parents. I knew I was wrong to call in sick from Colorado when I took a couple days off to go skiing. I knew I was breaking fire code when I stayed in my classroom to finish preparing for the next class period when everyone else was outside for the fire drill. I knew I was breaking school rules when I sneaked a student out of in-school suspension to participate in an activity that he couldn’t make up if he missed my class. I knew I could have been more professional by not hanging up on a parent who was cursing at me on the phone. I knew I was wrong when I lost my cool with my principal and slammed his door as I left his office. Yes, I’ve made some mistakes over the years—and I was even written up once and rightfully so. On the other hand, one time when an administrator wrote in my evaluation something that he couldn’t back up when I asked him to do so, I boldly submitted a written rebuttal to the report. Without due process, any principal who wanted to get rid of me could have jumped on any single one of those actions and told me “don’t let the door hit you on the way out.”

My most memorable experience that would have likely turned out differently had I not had due process was the year I was president of our local teachers’ association—a year when our district negotiations hit rock bottom with a new superintendent and board who were not teacher-friendly at all. When we ended up at the fact-finding stage, after stacking our contracts district-wide, I was called to testify—with an oath to tell the truth—on an incident I had witnessed in which a school board member and the superintendent lied. I can’t explain how disturbed I was to have to tell the truth on that public witness stand in a room filled with district administrators and respected community members. But I did tell the truth, shaking and holding back tears. Without due process, however, I don’t know how I would have found the courage to do so.

These are just a few of the situations that I can recall from my teaching journey with due process. At the same time, I’m confident other teachers have experienced worse. Perhaps, if you don’t know me and must base your judgment of the quality of my teaching solely on what I’ve described here, you might think I am a terrible teacher. I’ll simply respond, "I am not." You can find me on the Internet.

My father used to say, “Be careful what you wish for because you might get it.” In the past few years, a majority of Kansas voters have “wished for” a more conservative group of politicians filling the state legislature and the governorship. As a result of that wish being granted, what those voters got over the weekend is the stripping of due process from every teacher in this state—a situation that is likely to result in teachers who are less courageous when necessary and, instead, more unlikely to be advocates for their profession, their colleagues, and their students. Without due process, the risk to act as needed may be too costly for many teachers, with their new silence leading to the condoning of unfair and unjust situations in schools. In the words of Thomas Jefferson, “All tyranny needs to gain a foothold is for people of good conscience to remain silent.” My hope is that, through your loud voices and your votes in November, you have different wishes and bring back due process so we can continue to attract high-quality teachers to Kansas classrooms and maintain the solid reputation of our educational system, which we have had for so many years. Let’s not allow the new school year beginning in the fall of 2014 change all that we can be proud of.

My Transforming Teacher-Anxiety Dreams

After 41 years in education, I still have anxiety dreams about beginning a new school year, and my only consolation is that I know such dreams, although varied in content, are common among teachers. Now that I’m teaching solely at the college level, however, those once-a-year night terrors in late July through early August now plague me for a second time in mid-January when I anticipate spring semester with a new group; plus, with my new courses beginning this week, the onslaught of those night terrors have taken on a completely different theme with all my teaching moving online.

Even when on the surface I’m feeling nothing less than excitement to begin a new school year, out of the blue, like clockwork, I awake tossing and turning having walked into my new classroom with students everywhere, filling every nook and cranny of the classroom and sitting on desks and countertops. And did I say, “sitting”? No, no…those students are talking, singing, dancing, laughing, yelling, without any hint—or care—that I have called class to order and am ready to teach them everything they need to know about English. It is pure chaos! Yes, my worst nightmare! (At least I have all my clothes on, as some of my teacher colleagues have confided that their anxiety dreams have them naked in front of the class.)

Evidently, though, I’ve left those chaotic scenes behind, at least for this upcoming spring semester. Yes, it’s so funny how the brain works—or how our dreams surface our evident anxieties that must be buried deep inside us during the day. Again this semester, I’m teaching Comp. II to college freshmen, but for the first time, this semester all my teaching is online, and, unbelievingly, my anxiety dreams have adapted to fit the situation. Two nights ago, I awoke, having dreamed about my incapability of formatting a document that I desperately needed to post in our learning management system—or LMS. I can still clearly see the two-column chart on which I was unable to move the contents from the right-hand column over to the left-hand column. That dratted software would not cooperate, leaving me helpless to meet my students’ needs—as if they would read the document anyway. Still, formatting it perfectly was not going to happen. I was beside myself! Then, last night I was hit with another outlandish nightmare…. I was grading a student essay online, but for the life of me I couldn’t figure out where the sets of parentheses fell. Yes, this essay was not only riddled with parentheses, but there was no logic of their pairings. As usual, I wanted to give the student the benefit of the doubt, and, as I too often do, I was doubting my own ability to figure out what a student—who was possibly much smarter than I am—was trying to do. I awoke just as I was having a major meltdown.

In contrast, during my years of mentoring new teachers, I always said that most good teachers—even veteran teachers—begin the school year with a bit of nervousness—a clear sign that the teacher is conscientious about doing a good job—but my dreams in the past 48 hours have been completely ridiculous! In fact, greatly anticipating getting started, I even released my course a few days early to the students already enrolled. I just hope that those nightmares aren’t predictors that my computer will be crashing any time soon.

When I bravely revealed my recent dreams to my husband, also a long-time educator, he suggested that the worst anxiety dream would be to show up for class and there are no students at all. Maybe. But I’ll hope for a full class of conscientious students who can’t wait to begin their first major essay! I know…I’m still dreaming!

I Can’t Help What I Like

Triggered by reading a movie review in this morning’s paper, I’m reminded by how my likes and dislikes can be so different with what seems to be the norm. I’m not talking about my general dislike for opera or skiing or Greek food or, even as a passionate dog-lover, pugs and Boston terriers, as I am in pretty good company with those topics. No, I’m talking about disliking what most people do like and appreciate, but I don’t. For example, I don’t like apple pie, and I’m the only person I know who doesn’t. I don't like candles because I'm afraid I'll burn down my house. I don’t like Harry Potter books, yet I appreciate that they are well written and have turned on millions of children to reading. In my personal and professional worlds, there are people whom everyone else seems to idolize, but I don’t; in fact, sometimes I’m not a fan at all. (Note that I’m smart enough not to mention specific names.) And my husband frequently reminds me that I’m the only person he knows who doesn’t like the movie Lawrence of Arabia. No, I don’t! In fact, quite honestly, it bored me out of my mind, and I actually fell asleep while trying to watch it. Because it’s my husband’s favorite movie in the universe, however, I truly want to like it…but I don’t!

Likewise, there are some things I do like, although I seem to be in the company of only a few. Back to the movie review I read this morning…. Granted, my husband and I saw The Wolf on Wall Street on Christmas Day, the day of its release, based on its good pre-release movie reviews. Since that time, however, I’ve read numerous reviews and comments from critics and friends who have labeled it “trash” and have admonished others for giving it such high accolades. For myself, however, not only did I like the movie, but I’m quite surprised that I liked it at all. In fact, the very next day, a few of my family members (at a post-Christmas gathering) asked me about the movie, and in all cases my response was “I’d describe it as ‘greed, drugs, and orgies’…but I liked it!” The looks on my relatives’ faces mirrored my own surprise since I despise greed, I don’t do drugs (except caffeine and a bit of alcohol, of course), and I’ll go to my grave being embarrassed by nudity (thanks to my Victorian mother). Still, I found the movie captivating because, at least based on what I’ve read, the story of Jordan Belfort was true! Yes, he thoroughly disgusts me! And I’m so glad, based on the movie’s depiction of life on Wall Street, that that culture has never been a part of my life. Still, what a great movie! In today’s review in the Kansas City Star, C. W. Gusewelle, whose writings I enjoy and respect, states, “I don’t make unreasonable demands of a movie. All I ask…is a narrative that’s coherent, a setting that is believable, and characters appealing enough that I care about their fates.” For me, however, it’s that last descriptor that doesn’t hold up. By the end of the movie, I couldn’t have cared less about Belfort’s fate! He was a disgusting asshole and, in my mind, deserved nothing good, based on his actions and lifestyle. Had the story been fiction, I might not feel the same; instead, I might lump it with the gruesome horror and bullet-and-blood-riddled Hollywood blockbusters that I can see no purpose for. But because The Wolf on Wall Street story is true, it fascinated me. At the same time I am reminded of Big Brother in Orwell’s 1984 and Archie Costello in Robert Cormier’s The Chocolate War. What great characters to hate! What tremendous talents Orwell and Cormier—and Scorsese, in the case of Belfort—displayed in creating those characters that will stay with me.

My point here is not to review the movie, as I’m not a qualified movie critic. My point actually is a curiosity as to why people so passionately like different things compared to the norm (granted our taste buds are different) and specifically why I like and appreciate different things compared to most other people. Likewise, in my teaching life, I’ve found myself in the minority on several topics, issues, and methods, even when they carry the label as “research-based” or “best practices.” For example, a few that come to my mind are five-minute walk-throughs, the value of pacing guides, assigned reading based on quantity (see my previous blog), and limited passes to the restroom. At the same time, I know I’m a hypocrite in these areas because I’m confident that, if any of my former colleagues are reading this post, they could easily counter with “But, Kay, I distinctly remember when you used to….” (Fill in the blank with numerous truths—many that now make me cringe and for which I am often inclined to write personal letters of apology to former students and their parents).

I suppose the key is to keep our minds open to all possibilities, be tolerant (at least to a point) of others’ opinions and tastes, know when to keep our mouths shut about what we do and don’t like (so we can keep the friends we have—family members are stuck with us), and know that there’s nothing wrong with us when we deviate from the norm, even when we’re surprised by our own opinions. Holding to these practices should help me keep myself in check when I’m reminded that, just as I may be the only person who doesn’t like Lawrence of Arabia, my husband is the only person I know who doesn’t like pizza! (I’ll end here by practicing keeping my mouth shut.)

Why My Reading Goal for 2014 Is Only to Read

With all due respect to my avid reading colleagues and friends who set impressive goals to read 100 books or more for the following year, I refuse to set a personal reading goal challenging myself to read a specific quantity of books during 2014. Although since 2009 I’ve kept a list of books I’ve read each year—and will continue to do so—and with each ensuing year I’ve set a goal to read even more, beginning with 2014 that type of goal-setting stops for me. Below are my reasons why:

Quantity reading distracts from quality reading.  Some of my favorite books I’ve read throughout my life have taken me months to read. For example, as a teenager, it took me almost a year to read Gone with the Wind. Perhaps surprising to some, my love for reading didn’t kick in until I was in my 20s; however, I stuck with that saga when I was 17 and loved every moment I was immersed in Scarlet’s undertakings. This past year it took me six months to read The Lords of Discipline; in fact, I finished it at 11:59 p.m. on December 31, not because my goal was to add another book to my 2013 list but because I was so intrigued in the ending I couldn’t put it down. The main reason Conroy’s novel lasted so long is because I have a rule that I read only from tangible books before I go to bed—not from my eBooks—so the story of the Carolina Military Institute was restricted to my bedside. And then there’s my favorite book of all times—Orwell’s 1984—which is by no means a quick read and is one of the few books I’ve read again and again. During the time with those three books alone, I probably could have added numerous other shorter, easier—and perhaps still high quality—books to my repertoire; however, I wouldn’t trade a moment of the quality of experiences those three books have provided me.

Quantity reading sidetracks from purposeful reading and discounts other types of reading experiences. Just as focusing on purposeful reading is so much a part of reading instruction, we know that reading for a purpose is naturally embedded in our personal reading habits. In my case, besides becoming lost in books, I love my magazines, from Real Simple (my favorite) to The O, The Oprah Magazine (especially the book reviews) to Prevention (keeping my mostly healthy lifestyle on track) to Good Housekeeping (thanks to my mom for that hook) to the New Yorker (granted, I skim the selections and focus on the cartoons), and many more. I also enjoy reading several newspapers, blogs, emails, Facebook posts (and links), calendars, daily devotions, and, of course, all those student essays—yes, I enjoy reading those, too, most of the time.  Then, there are the nonfiction books, many in which I read only a few chapters, based on my professional needs and interests or based on the fact that the first chapter, which I often read from the electronic sample, is sometimes the best part of the book, with the remaining chapters being downhill from there. Occasionally—not often enough—I read some poetry, yet I’ve never felt that poetry can be enjoyed by reading entire anthologies all the way through. Finally, based on my mood, my purpose for reading changes from day to day because sometimes I need to learn something right now while other times I need to be inspired or simply need to be frivolously entertained. At the same time, I have to admit that being driven by my mood has led me to a bad habit of reading a chapter of one book and then jumping to a chapter of another book. That’s why on Goodreads, I’m claiming right now to be currently reading a ridiculous amount of books at one time. Perhaps someday I will finish War and Peace, which I started almost two years ago, but I’ll have to be in the mood to return to it. Anyway, reflecting on all the different types of reading I do, I don’t consider many of these selections countable, yet I enjoy each one and consider each type valuable. For example, how many poems does it take to equal one reading toward a quantifiable goal? Likewise, do I have to read an entire magazine to allow it to count at all? And then, to me—being a rule follower and game player—what about those picture books I read to my grandchildren? Can I count them? I’ll leave that answer up to somebody else who’s logging a list.

Quantity reading turns reading into a competition and distracts from immersion. When I used to be focused on reading for quantity, I often read with a great deal of anxiety, constantly thinking I need to finish this book so I can log it and then start the next book. For me, reading this way totally takes away from pleasurable reading and disallows me to lose myself in a book. One time period in which I became a most anxious reader fell during the three years I served on the William Allen White reading selection committee. Granted, I greatly appreciated that honor, but reading all those books during such a short period of time about did me in! At the same time, I was teaching young adult lit, so my entire reading life had to be devoted to YA and children’s literature. As a result, at the end of those three years, I craved something more adult. (Don’t get me wrong, I love YA, and that genre can still speak to me personally as an adult, but after those three years I needed something else for a while.) The goal during those years wasn’t to enjoy—it was to complete—it was to race through my reading to meet a deadline—it was to meet the expectations of claiming I had read every single book on the list or at least as many as everyone else on the committee had read. And I did just that! Similarly, again, with all due respect to my avid reading friends, I don’t want to feel a need to compete with you. Just because you’re setting a goal to read 100 books during 2014, I don’t want to feel as if I’m an inferior reader because I won’t read that many. To you, I say, “Go for it!” but, for me, whether I’d be setting a goal to measure up to you or to measure up to myself, the anxiety of the competition distracts from my ability to enjoy each reading experience.

Life takes over. Regardless of my love of reading, there are times when I just can’t read much at all. Sure, I’m still reading my email and Facebook posts and grading my essays, but being able to concentrate on a plotline or absorb new textual information just won’t happen. Many of those times concur with downtimes in my life (which I won’t go into), but other times coincide with celebratory events, such as spending time with my family and friends, attending performances and sporting events, exercising, and even watching TV. In fact, I watch and enjoy a great deal of TV, despite the fact that, instead, I could be reading. But just as I don’t want to devote hours and hours per week at the gym, I don’t want to devote hours and hours reading. For some days and even weeks, I do spend hours and hours reading, but other times, I’ll go for days without touching a book. I don’t want to feel guilty for that, nor do I want to give up my other pleasures in life because I’ve committed myself to reading a certain amount. If I were to set a goal to read 100 books during the next year, I would be making one of two choices for myself: either I would end up feeling guilty for not meeting my goal or, at least some days, I would be missing out on another experience for choosing the reading over something else just as—or more—important.

Finally, as English teachers, we need to be careful what we model for our students. Specifically, with all due respect to Donalyn Miller’s The Book Whisperer, which was one of my bibles in designing a middle school reading program a few years ago, we need to be careful when we assign our students a certain quantity of books to read each grading period. Even Donalyn backs off her expectation of all students being required to read 40 books per year, depending upon the student. And we know how some students will play that game—only by quantity. Just think how quantity drives student reading in the Accelerated Reading Program, alone. True, especially when students can choose what they read, I’ve seen many students, for the first time, begin and take off on their lifelong reading habits within a reading workshop model and then set and meet their own reading goals, but those goals don’t have to be based on the quantity of books read. Dependent upon quantity reading requirements alone, there are still those students who read—or claim to have read—the minimum amount of books with the minimum amount of required pages. We can’t turn students’ reading experiences into only quantifiable units. Instead, we need to promote reading programs that honor all types of reading occurring at a variety of rates to meet the needs of the diverse abilities and interests of all our students. Focusing on quantifiable goals alone won’t do that!

Before I close, let me make clear that I’m not judging anyone else who sets a quantifiable reading goal. If that works for you, that’s great! Instead, I’m simply sharing why such goals won’t work for me and why we need to be careful about imposing those types of goals on our students. I know I will die with an insurmountable amount of want-to-read books on my personal reading list; however, I want to enjoy whatever I choose to read until then. Also, I’m sure that within this post, I’m relaying my own inclinations toward guilt, goal-setting, and the competitive spirit. I have my own idiosyncrasies, just as everyone else does. At the same time, for those of you who might experience these same characteristics regarding your reading experiences, I encourage you to let go of any self-imposed need to read copious amounts of books and, instead, to read for the moment and enjoy!