High Fives!

One of my first visitors yesterday morning was an aspiring writer.  This girl is amazing; penning, rewriting, and observing the world.  She is so passionate about the written word that she co-founded the student Writing Club, where Donegal kids can share ideas and inspiration with each other.  One of her goals for this year is to get something she has written actually published in a print source.  She was excited to share a recent letter she had received.

It was her first official rejection letter.

Did I offer a hug and consolation?  Absolutely not.  I gave her a high five, and a whitebook to record this momentous occasion.  Judging from the photo to the right, (used with her permission), she has clearly signed on to the idea of growth through embracing and celebrating failure (aka alternate success).  

Her Facebook post this morning, along with the photo of the newly-decorated whitebook, speaks volumes:

"I submitted one of my pieces to a writing magazine, and it didn't make the cut. I guess you could say I'm taking it well... "

Thomas Edison, Albert Einstein, Walt Disney, Bill Gates, J.K. Rowling, Abraham Lincoln, Lucille Ball, and thousands of others, were rejected before they made it big.  Heck, Steve Jobs was fired by his own company.  Back in 2009, my daughter and I attended the Tim Burton exhibit at the MoMA.  Burton must have known he was going to make it big, because he had saved many early pieces of ephemera, including a signed rejection letter from the Disney Corporation, which was there on display, in the MoMA, in a climate-controlled case, scrutinized by thousands of fans who had paid to see the exhibit celebrating Burton's work.  Clearly, the rejection was not the end of the road for the brilliantly creative Mr. Burton.

So yes, high fives for the very first rejection letter, and a shout out to Rachel for her risk-taking and embracing of this very important step on the path to success.  It's a privilege to be on the ground floor of this exciting adventure, watching, and celebrating, as she builds her collection for her MoMA exhibit, which I estimate should be tentatively scheduled for sometime in 2048.

RSVP - No Matter Where You Are.

It is the week after Labor Day, and the annual invitation to the Thanksgiving Breakfast has been posted.  There are few events in my life that I give this much forethought and advance notice -- heck, the usual time lapse between wedding invitations and weddings is usually somewhere around 8 weeks.  For the Gifted and Talented present and former students of Donegal, the "Save the Date" is implied; a standing plan to meet at 9 am on the Wednesday before Thanksgiving to laugh, connect, and share stories - with present and former high school students.  As a professional TOG (Teacher of the Gifted), this single event is more rewarding than most every other day of the year.

Why do I give thanks?  That's a pretty darned obvious question.  In my opinion, any kid that is willing to get up early for breakfast on a day that school is closed is motivated by either their respect for me and the connections made through my classroom or their desire to renew connections since graduation, sharing their life-after-high-school wisdom.  Last year there were more than 60 present and former students in attendance, some who graduated almost 10 years ago.

What do I want to say to the former students?  The teacher I WAS when you had me is not the teacher I AM today.  I've changed it up, I've gone to grad school.  I've connected with colleagues and integrated new technology.  The district now has given me a classroom, and a class for credit, and a regular schedule of students who come to my room, instead of me scrambling to find them in another class.  I'm still random, but random with intent and purpose.

At 4:33 am, a former student inboxed me, begging to know why I continue to send invitations.  This individual does not feel particularly successful at life right now, and doesn't see the value in attending breakfast as someone with a  story that personally deemed to be less than inspirational.

Because society tells us that gifted kids who don't reach a societal definition of full-potential are someone failures, and there is nothing that the masses enjoys more than some tabloid-like headline about the fall from grace of someone standing above. We've all watched tv shows or movies of a ten year school reunion, and cheered the underdog who has risen above his potential that was predicted at graduation, and delighted in the "failure" of the star quarterback or valedictorian.

Today, there is a lot of talk about the idea of embracing failure.  Sure, there is the idea of positive mindset, grit, and rigorous attention to detail, that have been the big buzzwords in education in the shadow of the development of Common Core.  Failure is now something to be embraced and considered, as well.  Edutopia published an excellent article, with embedded videos, entitled 5 Minute Film Festival:  Freedom to Fail Forward.  In addition to the commentary provided by author Amy Erin Borovoy, there is an excellent mini-documentary by Honda, where race car driver, Danica Patrick,  speaks on the risks she takes on the track, constantly pushing herself to go one second faster each time she races - "you're constantly on the brink of crashing, because that's the fastest."  

Think about it.  This is where we want our gifted kids to be.  One second from crashing, pushing their talents to the limit.  Not afraid to fail, because they see the potential for learning through their failures, and come out of that crash stronger and more clear-headed than if they'd taken the safe route.  When Danica Patrick crashes, it makes the news.  When she wins her race, the media is there.  When she's somewhere between first and last, there is little mention of her performance.  The same is true of our best and brightest.

Sure risk-taking has been a theme in this blog.  (Go ahead and type the word RISK into the searchbar above - you'll see what I mean...)  Yet I haven't really pushed the idea of failing.  Sara Blakely, founder of Spanx, credits to her success in her embracing failure.  As a TOG for the last 18 years, I have failed my students by not stressing the importance of pushing the pedal to the metal, and crashing.  (Metaphorically speaking, of course.)  As Diane Sawyer so eloquently states at the end of the Spanx interview, "Even in failure there is a gift.  Find the gift."  Yes, it's about Happiness.  Yes, it's about Mindset.  Yes, it's about Positive Psychology.  (And yes, all of those things are capitalized because they are important themes currently being taught in this semester's Themes in Literature class.)  This year, however, there will be more discussion and reflection about Failure, Resilience, and Determination.  There will be joy in Formula # 1- 408,  or the stories of WD-1 to 39.

And yes, I will go to breakfast on that magical Wednesday in November, and applaud the efforts and successes of students who failed at a dream, and succeeded in waking up from a nightmare, with a life lesson worth sharing.  I will want to tell them that I am not the teacher they had, and I am not the teacher that I am going to be.  There are a lot of lessons that I've taught that will never be taught again, simply because there's a Formula 409 or WD-40 waiting to be discovered.

In all of us.

So go to that reunion.  RSVP to that breakfast that you've been invited to attend.  Somebody just might need your success story, or maybe the story of your 408 failures.

Can Creativity Exist in a Vacuum? And Who Gets to Say Yes?

 I've been reading The Idea Agent: The Handbook on Creative Processes, by Jonas Michanek and Andreas Breiler, for a grad class this summer.  Today's question:

Why Does No One Appreciate My Brilliant Idea?

In my mind, that translated to "My Brilliant Creation," which got me to thinking about a rather existential concept of self-fulfillment vs. the need for societal approval.  What causes people to create?  Sometimes it's boredom, sometimes necessity, sometimes intentional.  Let's assume that any creative energy expended for no reason other than personal satisfaction stems from boredom.  (No extrinsic reward - no grades, no compensation).  Necessity would be the opposite.  Assignments for school, work, or something that ultimately results in an item or idea worthy of sale, would fall in this category.  Intentional creativity would be akin to that classic scene in Apollo 13 where the engineers in Houston were challenged to use existing materials on the rocket to create a round filter from a square one.  

This all left me wondering whether creativity requires an audience.  (Insert tree-falling-in-forest analogy here.)  I've done millions of doodles in margins of agendas during meetings, some of which weren't immediately crumbled and filed in the circular file.  I've made play-doh snakes and LEGO creations and sand castles, and other temporary creations, only to crumble, crush, or break them apart, with few, and in some cases no, people viewing, appreciating, or critiquing the item.

In 2002, I travelled to NYC to the Whitney Museum, to view the Gee's Bend quilt exhibit.  The quilts on display had been made in the early 20th century in a small African-American community-Gee's Bend, Alabama (Arnett, Wardlaw, Livingston, & Beardsley, 2002).  While it was a fascinating collection of quilts, and the power of women to create out of almost nothing, there was literally NO CREATIVE INTENTION in terms of style, color or form, on the part of the makers.  One "quilt" consisted of a blue and white ticking fabric that had been part of a mattress, where someone had obviously given birth.  The giant stain left on the mattress had made it unusable, and the fabric had been re-purposed into a quilt. It was rather gross.  Yes, the quilts "spoke" about the ingenuity of the maternal spirit, and the task and lengths these women went to making something out of virutally nothing.  But nobody considered them to be artistic endeavors. In fact, there were videos playing throughout the exhibit where these women talked about how much they DETESTED sewing, and how amazed they were that anybody would want to even SAVE these quilts, let alone hang them in a museum and charge people to view them.  How could something be viewed as creative -- as art -- when the actual creator of the item didn't view it with that lens?

Art, creativity, and the creative spirit seem to be intertwined.  There really isn't, in my mind, a test worthy of a quantitative measurement of creativity -- despite Torrance's attempts to say otherwise.   What resonated with me was the last paragraph in Chapter 8; the single most important reason to engage in creative activity is tied to the individual "happier and more fulfilling life" that can be found in the creative process.

Because maybe, just maybe, that Kickstarter project that went unfunded this year will be celebrated in another form by another generation, much like those quilts.  And,  if the creator saw value and worth in the creation and received fulfillment from the process, then it was already worth it, right?

Arnett, W., Wardlaw, A. J., Livingston, J., & Beardsley, J. (2002). Gee’s bend to Rehoboth: The women and their Quilts. United States: Tinwood.

Michanek, J., & Breiler, A. (2013). The idea agent: The handbook on creative processes. London, United Kingdom: Routledge.

Who can take down Godzilla?

 

Yesterday, an administrator commented that she had awakened early, and noticed the full moon.  Suddenly all of the irrational behavior experienced recently had come into perspective.  For all educators know that a  full moon falling on a shortened week heading into a five day weekend for students, and a four day weekend for teachers pretty much is akin to the stars aligning for a Powerball win.

Except not in the happy way. 

Today was a classic example of the randomness that happens on a daily basis, which seems to be exacerbated by the lunar cycle.  In one single period, I uttered phrases that I've never uttered before, and expect I will never say again:

"Why no, I can't identify the superhero that has the best chance to take down Godzilla."

 (Why?  Because I'm currently trying to teach these students how to do a fabulously gorgeous Works Cited page in MLA Format.  But that is clearly not obvious to you, because you know I always just sit at my desk during class fantasizing about the qualities and shortcomings of superheroes.)

Things quieted down for a while, as the students worked on finishing their rough drafts of their essays, which were due at the end of class.  There were questions, there were redirections, there were bulgy-eyed cows and foam brain stress balls supporting the determined.  For the most part, it seemed like we were on track to finish the essays as planned.  Some particularly diligent folks finished early, and took out books to read for the remainder of class.

And then the debate happened.  It was quiet, at first, and then escalated requiring redirection.  

"What color do you think Jesus was?"

My brain asked, "Is this relevant to your career essay?"  My mouth stayed silent.

"Do you think Jesus was white or black?"

Once again, my brain had many a witty comment to make, all of which were suppressed. 

("Okay, seriously, this is a great topic to research, but I'm pretty sure that none of you is aspiring to be the Messiah, and we're focusing on FINISHING these essays before the end of class. "   "You don't need to walk on water, you JUST NEED TO FINISH THIS ESSAY", etc.)

"I'm pretty sure he was..." 

"All right!  Get back to work!  FOCUS, people, FOCUS!  You have minutes left to complete this, or you will be doomed to all sorts of grueling work over your break -- with no actual BREAK in your weekend!  Finish it, print it, staple it, upload it -- just get it done!" 

It seemed simple enough.  A plea from the desperate.  A statement of truth, allowing the pact we'd made two weeks ago to meet the established deadlines, allowing the break to be homework free, to be just that.   And had the moon not been full, it might have happened.

"What do you think Jesus used as chapstick?"

You know you're a teacher when you simultaneously shake your head in disbelief, look stern, laugh internally, send an email to your teacher-friend who knows these kids, and then regain control by uttering the words:

"OBVIOUSLY He used Olive Oil.  Get back to work."

Happy Spring Break -- whenever yours starts.  

T - 24 hours, + an Inservice Day for me.

 

Twin Peaks

In the early 90's, my husband and I were drawn into the investigation of the death of Laura Palmer, homecoming queen, discovered wrapped tightly in plastic near the river in Twin Peaks, Washington.  Unlike the Netflix fascination with the death of Teresa Halbach by Steven Avery, we watched the brilliantly-written/bizarrely-woven tale of Twin Peaks for two seasons, as Agent Cooper from the FBI delved into the clues, chatting with the Log Lady, the vertically challenged dancer, and allegedly-hallucinated giants, all while obsessing about the "damned fine cup of coffee" served at the local diner.

It was weird.  So weird, that even when we couldn't quite figure out what the heck was going on, we couldn't turn away.  Although Twin Peaks aired for only two seasons, prior to its short-lived revival a couple of years ago, there are many 40 and 50somethings who nod in understanding when phrases from the cult favorite come up in conversation.  In hindsight, I wonder why we spent so many hours watching something that remains in my mind as being nothing more than a bad head trip, rather than a brilliantly-woven tale of intrigue.

Flash Forward

Given that yesterday was the last day of Mardi Gras, it seemed appropriate to reference flashing in a blog about education, right?  There were more than a few people flashing their twin peaks for beads in the French Quarter last night, I am sure. Honestly, I've given little thought to the people of Twin Peaks, Washington, since the turn of the century, aside from attempting to revisit my youth when the series was revived a few years ago.  Yet my mind has been fixated on Twin Peaks -- rather --- twin peaks -- since 3rd period yesterday.

My class was divided into two circles of students, assigned with a task to illustrate and differentiate between qualitative and quantitative observation.  As often happens, one group finished the task far more quickly than the other, and were waiting for the alternate group to complete their task before the "next step" in the lesson.   It was during that brief five minutes that I overheard the words 'shrooms, high, duct tape, and toothpaste, while witnessing an intense "E.F. Hutton Talking" kind of listening happening among the finished group members.

"Yes, Mrs. Heydt.  All you need to do is rub toothpaste on your nipples and cover them with duct tape."  

Seriously?  Who says this to a 54 year old teacher?  More importantly, who even discovers or considers such behavior?  

Instantly, there was a flurry of searching Urban Dictionary and Google.  And yes, it's true.  Kids are actually attempting to create hallucinogenic experiences by rubbing toothpaste on their twin peaks, (check the Urban Dictionary!), and adding duct tape patches to seal the deal, protect their clothing, and allegedly extend the duration of the high.  It's referred to as "Pasting."

Most of the online discussion about this phenomenon appears on sites frequented by kids like Reddit, KnowyourMeme, and yahooquestions, and that only causes me to become more concerned.  Heck, when I was a kid, I used to put toothpaste on zits on my face before I went to bed, hoping for blemish-free  skin by morning, so I could have been accused of using the dentifrice for "medicinal purposes" myself.  I spoke to our School Resources Officer (SRO), who is usually In the Know about the popular trends in drugs and hallucinogenics, and he was equally clueless.

There is some potentially credible science available indicating that the makeup of the human nipple allows for greater absorption of chemicals into the bloodstream, and that there is the possibility that "Pasting" actually may alter reality.  Urban Dictionary has definitions for Pasting dating back nearly four years.  Youtube contains more than a few videos of insanity regarding this topic.

The reality is that kids will continue to "be kids" while demanding to be treated like adults.  There are hundreds of documented cases of kids who accepted the "Cinnamon Challenge"  or "Chubby Bunny" and wound up in the emergency room.   As educators, it is our responsibility to monitor, vigilantly, the conversation and trends in our classrooms and cafeterias, and attempt to deter the desire to alter reality as a means of escape or acceptance by their peers.

It's tough, though.  Especially when the story overheard is so seemingly stupid that your first thought is the mental image of the associated pain of ripping duct tape off of your sensitive skin.

My comment to my students?  "Why would you try it?   It may kill you, and you'll be forever-known as the kid who died with duct taped nipples.  Not much of a legacy, right?"

Is that enough to deter the behavior?  I certainly hope so.  Because beyond that, I'm fairly speechless.

#reflectiveteacher #drugabuse #urbandictionary

Moo-Reese and the Indestructable Phone.

Virtually Indestructable

It was the end of the period, and the majority of the class was gathered at the computer cart near the door, pretending to put their computers away.  In reality, they were stalling, jockeying for position, as more than half of them were headed to the cafeteria next for lunch.  Amid the gaggle of feet shuffling, I saw a cellphone drop, out of the corner of my eye.  It was quickly retrieved, and then the unimaginable happened.

It was SPIKED into the floor by its owner, who picked it up and proudly proclaimed, "the guy at the Verizon Store was WRONG!  This phone is NOT indestructible!"

I stared, in stunned disbelief, as this freshman in high school was doing something akin to an end zone victory dance because he had proven the Verizon dude wrong.  My amazement was short-lived, as he then cut his fingers on the shattered screen, claiming that the phone still worked.  In short order, it started to smoke and heat up, and then shocked him as he attempted to reboot it.

Honestly, I was still pretty confused.  Not nearly as confused as the administrator who got the phone call when I sent the young lad to surrender his phone to the secure confines of an envelope in the office, to be picked up at the end of the day.  And, I bet, not nearly as confused as the mother who received the phone call (initiated by the principal) from her son explaining what had happened.    I was told by the para-educator, who escorted the proud young man to the office, that he made it about halfway to the office before the sense of accomplishment turned to the sobering reality of the situation.

It's days like these that I come home claiming, "I just can't make this stuff up!"

Laurence Steinberg, the esteemed expert on child psychology, and professor at Temple University, compares the teenage brain to a car with a great accelerator, and a really weak brake.  Examples like the smashed phone certainly abound, with varying motivational forces behind the escalating behavior.  Often it's peer pressure, either internal - "wait until they see THIS" -- or external, "CHUG, CHUG, CHUG"...  you get the idea.  As I reflected on this, though, I couldn't help but see a potential correlation between the teen brain - okay, THIS teen's brain, and the Fixed vs. Growth Mindset studies of Carol Dweck.

It's a new semester, and I am still struggling to learn all the names of the kids in my five classes, so I can't really speak to the motivation and willingness to learn of this particular individual.  I'm still in that Making Meaningful Connections mode, trying to prove that I am an adult, I sympathize with their hatred of research and writing, but we're in this together, and I believe in them.  I've studied CDT data, read IEPs, highlighted SDI's (Specially Designed Instruction), and have noted dozens of accommodations in the Differentiation Section of my lesson plans.  I've pulled out all the stops -- the basket of "fiddlers" is back, including the bulgy-eyed cow and an assortment of stress balls.

It probably won't surprise you to know that the bulgy-eyed cow has been named MOO-Reese, and now owns an origami hat, with a promise of a top hat, and maybe a baseball hat, to be fashioned and added to his collection of chapeaus.   We're connecting, we're uniting in common, and not so common, interests, and learning to trust each other.  

And this teacher is choosing her words very carefully this semester -- because I certainly know that at least one young man refuses to be told that he "can't" do something, without rising to the challenge.

Will there be a new phone on Monday?  Only time will tell.  Will there be a new hat for Moo-Reese?  We can dream, can't we?  It's a new semester, with limitless possibilities in my mind.  But I'm going to listen to Laurence Steinberg and rein in some of the choices, for the sanity of all of us.

 

 

What is Risky?

photo courtesy morguefile.com

Randomness abounds, this time of year.  There are two - count them - two, days left before final exams begin.   I love this time of year, despite the constant revisions to the piles of research papers, the pleas for "just one more chance" to do some extra credit to boost that grade, and the endless game of cat-pursuing-mouse I am playing with students who owe me work.  

Why do I chase them?  Because it's easier than filling out the paperwork for an Incomplete on the report card.  If I catch them now, it's all over next week.  If I don't, well, chances are darned good that next semester's class will have a familiar face staring at me for another 90 days, repeating the course.

The love isn't for the thrill of the hunt, it's for the thrill of the presentations.   The Themes in Literature classes have dug out their Inquiry Questions just one more time to dig deep for their group presentations.  It was during that time today that Taylor said that she was still waiting.

For what?

The answer to a blog post from December, 2014.   

What is risky?

risk·y

ˈriskē/

adjective

adjective: risky; comparative adjective: riskier; superlative adjective: riskiest

full of the possibility of danger, failure, or loss.

"it was much too risky to try to disarm him"

synonyms:

dangerous, hazardous, perilous, high-risk, fraught with danger, unsafe, insecure, precarious, touch-and-go, treacherous, parlous

Thanks, Google, for the definition.  

Risky is not a thing in my classroom.  (Which stands to reason, what with it being an adjective, according to Google.  Yet gifted kids seem to fear risk more than the soulless eyes of zombies chasing them.)  In fact, risky is the exact opposite of anything.  Risky is NOTHING.  

Yes, I'm talking in circles, and yes, I'm still squinting at my computer screen as a victim of Post Concussion Syndrome, having overdosed on my alotted screen time for today.  Risky is something that I dwell upon, think about, and bemuse much more than I should.  To me, Risky is the very idea of any of my students failing to face danger, failure or loss, because they are too afraid to try.  

What causes kids, particularly gifted kids, to fail to try?  Well, heck, most of the time it has something to do with those ROUND SHAPED grades.  You know, Bs, Cs, Ds.  The fear of a grade that doesn't look like the side of a 60s swingset, complete with crossbar.  (You know what I mean -- we all hung upside down by our knees from that bar, or teased someone who did, with a rhyme about London, France, and underpants.)

Tomorrow the TDO Presentations begin.  Talent Development Opportunities are all about risk.  There's no target, no rubric.  The only promise is the guarantee of a 95%, regardless of the success of the project.  In fact, the only way to NOT do well on TDOs in my class is to turn in reflection papers (due 3 x a semester) late.  Those reflections are only scored for their reflective quality, and not the success or failure of the project.

So, Taylor, and the rest of my TDO Creators, What is risky?

Absolutely nothing.  No chance of danger, failure or loss.  You're all winners in my book.  Move forward, bare your souls, share your accomplishments, and admit to your failures.  And realize that every single thing you did, that mattered as you did it, has value to you.  Find it, recognize it, embrace it.  Learn from it, move forward, carrying that learning in your pocket.  Motivate your classmates with your stories, inspire your teacher to draw on another page in her barebook, and start thinking about what happens in two short weeks, when the 2nd semester begins.

Because if you think you faced risk this semester, just wait!