Standing Athwart Facebook Yelling "STOP!"

That's me.

I know Facebook went mainstream and ceased being only for the acne crowd lo many moons ago. I know adults my age and older are using it to keep track of old friends, classmates, etc. I know it is used for social networking in an age of dispersion and alienation.

But most of all I know that I don't care. I declare here and now that I will never, never, ever, never have a Facebook page.

This all comes up because the Wyfe is finally making noise about creating her own page so she can keep up with old high school and college buddies. She has been informed, however, that I want no part of it. A partial list of reasons includes:

1. I cannot disassociate Myspace and Facebook from the pernicious effects both have had on many a teenager I have taught.

2. I don't want to be found, or contacted by those who don't already know how to find me (for reasons only the CIA and I know about).

3. It would just be one more damn thing to keep track of.

4. Younger teachers tell me about students trying to "friend" them on their pages all the time.

5. I resent the de facto formation of verbs like "to friend" that have arisen as a result of these sites.

6. Deep down (well, Hell - not so deep down) I have always enjoyed playing the part of the crotchety old man who likes to be contrary, just because.

True, there is irony in the fact that I'm publishing this rant on a blog. But blogs are practically Victorian at this point, and could survive a Burkean analysis of established social traditions, I'm sure. (right? right?)

In any case, I'll have a Facebook page when they register me by tapping my cold, dead fingers on the keyboard.

Advent Diary #1

Probably like most who hope (very often, in my case, not strongly enough) to live the faith in word and deed, I've never been a terrific keeper of Advent - Lent has always been an easier time of year for me to discipline myself, put off instant gratification, reflect on shortcomings and sins, and learn to wait.

This year I decided to keep all of this in mind more often, and focus more intently during Advent on the fallen world all around us, and within us, before Christmas Day. Frankly, I haven't been doing so well, but I have had many things going on that are serving as very ugly reminders. To wit:

1. Major, major girl conflicts going on in yearbook, which brings with it the exciting baggage of a psycho mom calling me on my cell phone and another mom expressing "disappointment" over my consideration of removing her daughter from the class before taking intermediate steps.

2. Major, major seven year-old conflicts going on with my son's basketball team (luckily he's not one of the problems) between a bully whiner kid and another kid who wants to quit because of him (I'm asst. coach again, natch).

3. A member of my teaching team avoiding the other two members of my teaching team at all turns, with no one knowing why or being brave enough to ask (she's not mad at me, I'm certain, but I think I'm going to have to play detective/mediator at any rate).

So there you go - high school girls and moms, seven year-old boys, and mid-twenties teachers served up in a big, happy Advent pie. Then again, I asked for it this year, didn't I? I trust God has His reasons.

Acknowledging An Unacknowledged Sabbatical

Here's the thing this year- school begins at 7:10, which means I have to be up at 6:00 and moving quickly. We finish at 2:20, and can leave at 3:15, at which point I head straight to the elementary school and get in line so I can pick up the Boy. We get home, I help with homework, maybe get in a short snooze, then cook for the three of us before Wyfe arrives just after 6:00. Then it's clean the kitchen, maybe get in some exercise, and get the kid to bed. By that point, my blog motivation is hanging by a thread (and none of this even takes into account nights for baseball, and now basketball, both practices and games). So...

Yeah, the blog has been a big desert, as has out of school grading time, putting me way behind on everything. ARRRGHH!

But, I'm going to try and return from my month-long sabbatical somehow or another. I'll try to squeeze in some things as soon as I get home, at least on certain days and see how it goes.

It is true, by the way, that I did run over a deer last week, if you've heard the rumor. Not a reindeer, at least!

Forgive Me Father, I Have Sinned.

I did the unthinkable, the unmentionable this week: I quit on Shakespeare!

Well, sort of. You see, I've been doing The Tempest with my sophomores the last couple of years, to nice (if not resounding) success. No worries - I'm still doing it this semester. However, earlier this year, when putting together the final reading list for my honors class, I gave the smartie-pantses a vote on one reading. We could invest about $2.00 a piece and buy enough additional copies of Cyrano De Bergerac to do that, or add Othello to the list, with no need for a purchase to be made. The cheap-o's voted Othello, but frankly I was excited about this since it meant being able to do two Shakespeare's in a semester.

Well, I had forgotten that Othello was a much more difficult play, with much more dense and intricate language, and scenes that are long and less easily-digestable. Plus, we are at that point in the semester where kids' motivations are waning, and laziness has settled in like an epidemic. Things were not going well at all with the noble Moor, so after we slugged through Act III, I decided to pull the plug.

If it was just a matter of their laziness, I wouldn't have done it, but I was getting no interest or traction at all, except from about three exceptionally bright girls. A senior honors class would have been able to handle Othello better perhaps, but I'm not going to try it with sophomores again. Given the time left in the semester, and that I want to get in The Tempest and another novel, I made the tactical decision to withdraw from this battle in order to win the war.

And, I warned them, it will be war next week with The Tempest, a play even my standard English classes get through without scrapes. It's just that the honors crew will be responsible for a whole lot more... uh... enrichment activities to do.

Still, there is the guilt of letting ole Willie down, and at least one of the girls who was actually enjoying the play is angry because we quit. Oh, "The expense of spirit in a waste of shame!"

Craziness Doesn't End At The Finish Line

Well, no the election did not go the way I wanted it to, but I already knew that was going to happen a while ago. And no, I'm not bitter, and certainly have high regard for the historical whopper of electing a black man as president (who also ran a much better campaign, frankly). Mostly, though, I'm just so freakin' relieved it is over with...

Alas, there were landmines to attend to at school today, where I've heard it all in the past few weeks. I knew today would be full of rude euphoria and full of bitter brooding, full of bad sportsmanship on both sides, so to speak. And yes, I suppose I anticipated the Crazy showing up as well. Just to give you a taste:

-Earlier in the day, apparently, 15 students had to be escorted to the principal because they almost got in a post-election fight in their class.

-Some black students were in the hall saying, in defiant tones, "Black people are gonna' be able to do anything we want to now!" On Monday, many of these same students were saying, quite seriously, they wouldn't leave the house the day after the election if Obama won, because they didn't want the "dogs being set on them!"

-I heard from more than one yearbook student how eerie it is when you compare Obama with what you read in Revelations. (I think it's eerie when you compare any human being, including yours truly, with Mrs. Turpin in Flannery O'Connor's Revelation and find so many similarities, but that's a different topic).

-Someone said their Mama remarked that "The morals in this country are really going to go downhill now." (Is there still lower ground to be found?).

Be careful out there folks. Human nature is still alive and well.

Three Terrific Things About Today

1. I seamlessly moved from giving instructions to my honors class about a writing assignment, to blistering, Marine style, an impertinent little bratty girl who got up out of her seat for the second time in the middle of my lecture, to moving back into lecture mode, all while barely drawing a breath or missing a beat. Outstanding!

2. Early voting! I voted today, and it was the most pleasurable presidential-year voting experience I've had since those great absentee-ballot days of my college years. Serioulsy - no lines, no annoying people, in and out in 10 minutes. There is nothing romantic about actual election day at the polls. Since we have an optional workday, I'll now be spending Nov. 4th in leisure, with the Boy. As for the t.v.? When it's on that day, it'll be limited to cartoons or sports stations (at least until around bed time).

3. With our seven-year olds down by a run, in a blowing rain storm, against a hyper-competitive rival team whose coaches always send their kids for extra bases even when it goes beyond the bounds of sportsmanship, I sent the tying runner home from third base under potentially dubious circumstances. The next hitter struck out for out three, and then the game was called due to rain, so we secured a non-loss, at least. Those guys really wanted to beat us, too, so our head coach and I shared a nice chuckle after the game.

Don't look at me that way... they totally deserved it. I swear.

The Old Standby

In the midst of English departmental strife, misbehaving kids, sordid tales about things the adults in the school building do (both in and out of school), and that upcoming voting-related event which shall henceforward remain nameless in this space, it lifts my spirits a little to know that tonight begins yet another World Series, which is the huge sporting event I always look most forward to. The older I get, the more sentimental I get about baseball, moreso than any other sport.

Ah, yes, at least there will always be The World Series to count on... except for, uh, that one year back in the 90's, but never mind that.

Carpooling: A Cautionary Tale

So, at the end of last year three English teachers and a science teacher decided that in 08/09 they would meet up at a central location in Raleigh and drive together for the 20-some miles it takes to get to school from there, for all the usual reasons of saving money and going green(er). The cinching criteria that the science teacher met, since the other three had already planned this, was that she could speak in similarly glowing terms of their preferred presidential candidate, thus ensuring their ability to speak openly and freely about the topic that sooooo commands most of their attention outside of school, namely politics, politics, politics. But, I happen to know, they are also pretty fair shots when it comes to trashing others, complaining about their personal lives, and deciding to stop for drinks, occasionally, on the way home.

Well, I share a first block planning period and a planning lounge with the other sophomore English teachers, including the youngest of the carpooling foursome, and we have been pretty good friends since last year, when we were both newbies at our current school. She is quite mature for her age, but she is just 24-25, and lately around her I've been reminded just how impressionable an age that still can be. You see, at first it seemed the carpooling was going swimmingly, but after a few weeks we noticed her coming in grumpier and grumpier, swearing more than usual. Soon she was prone to mini-rants (personal or political) every other day, some of which included harsh trashing of other school employees (notably, the science teacher mentioned above). She would also volunteer what others on the car rides were saying, and intentionally or not, painting not-so flattering portraits of them (two of them are my age, by the way, and I have been present for savage rants of theirs before as well).

A couple of weeks ago my young friend blurted out that she realized she had become quite cynical and negative, and wondered aloud if it was because of all the time she spent with her largely cynical and negative carpool buddies (Ding! Ding! Ding!). Last Thursday she came in looking sunken, had a rough day at work, and on the ride home had to hear about how one of the other riders was called onto the carpet by the principal for a lost temper at some meeting earlier in the week. On Friday, my friend was not at school, and the other teachers said she was taking a "mental health" day. Then, on Monday, upon her return, she told us she was no longer carpooling, and instead would live with the higher gas costs.

I will venture a guess that she will seem much happier within a week or two.

Wonders of the eZine

It is a rare occasion, indeed, when I can tout my groundbreaking work (ha!) in using technology for the classroom. However, over the summer with the Writing Project, I learned about how to set up a private class "eZine" at Writing Matters, and so decided to give it a whirl with my honors class. I'm certain that more advanced teachers having been doing this sort of thing for years, but this was a bit of a plunge for me.

What you do is set everyone up with a password (so you can track deviant behavior), and then allow them to post a variety of academic, creative, rhetorical, or informal writings, which all others in the class can then post comments about. Of course, once I set it up, explained the rules, and displayed it for them, I didn't get the instant, "Oh, Mr. P this is the most wonderful, inspirational, rad, awesome idea ever! We're all going to post ten writings and comments tonight!!" reaction I was looking for, so I had to rely on one of my ingenious motivational techniques to get them going. Namely, I told them to post something, or get a "0".

Well, it worked, and the eZine really has taken off. There are something like 60 or 70 pieces of writing now up, and a plethora of comments. Fortunately, these have all stayed within bounds, and have been positive. I was hoping for a little more in the way of communal constructive criticism, but perhaps that will come as they get more comfortable sharing their writing and participating in give-and-take commentary.

In any case, I am so pleased with the results. Each week a few new things pop up there without prompting from me, and the kids seem to be into it. Now, the next frontier is to try it out with my standard English class, where many a reluctant writer presides. Still, I want to see how it goes with them, if I don't murder them for their fifth-grade mentalities beforehand...

Those Given To Us

Well, they include those we work with, and we all know those folks impact our lives in a multitude of ways.

My immediate co-workers (English teacher subset) are eminently talented teachers, and eminently intelligent; most are truly fun to know, and blessings to their students. The majority of them (or at least the vocal majority), are also quite different from me in two key areas: politically, and religiously. Their politics, as one might expect, are mostly quite liberal; their religious beliefs are hard to categorize without deeper conversation, but suffice it say they display either a contempt for, or at least an ambivalence toward, religious institutions and church attendance.

If I had my way, it would never occur to anyone to bring these areas up in the workplace; and yet (especially as election fever has been rising over the last year) in my time at School #2 I've been stuck in the middle of countless English teacher break room/lunch break/after-the-bell-hanging-out gatherings that have, seemingly spontaneously, broken out into political/religious harangue sessions (today at lunch was the latest example). The language always seems to turn bitter and salty, and the certitude more, well, certain. And I have been the lone one in the room who might disagree with them. Last March, when I finally admitted I was refusing an offered cookie because chocolate was one of the things I gave up during Lent, the room suddenly turned into a funeral parlor. I don't conflate religion with politics, but imagine if I had added a positive comment about the surge in Iraq while I was at it.

Hard to say this without sounding like a braggart, but it's funny that in the department I'm probably the most scholarly, the most egg-headed, and the most seriously read of them all. Not a feather in my cap; it's just the way I roll, and my particular experience. But I'm also the most likely to hang out with, in fact to be one of, the petty bourgeouise who mows his yard, helps coach baseball, and doesn't cringe when someone says grace before a meal. Others who don't share my politics or religious beliefs do the same, but I find these folks much more like me than like my colleagues.

The everlasting question is, what to do in these awkward work situations, which, if I had my way, would never arise in the first place? To this point, I've basically remained silent. I feel neither the energy/interest to engage in political office debates, nor feel I possess the skill for them (the Wyfe might serve as a wonderful stand-in for me in such matters). It seems I am much less inclined to view my fellow man in political terms than they are, anyway.

Still, part of me believes I'm a wimp, pure and simple

I suppose I would be more comfortable with religious conversations, but I'm not one to bring these up, and don't feel my colleagues would engage in good faith anyway. To them, it seems, non-lapsed Christians fit all the worst caricatures of dumb redneck gay-haters.

Mostly, I wonder at their contempt and bitterness. I don't think they are idiots or rubes, and try to see their religious hang-ups, in particular, through compassionate eyes. Not everyone like them says what they do, or behaves as they do, so I try to resist engaging in caricaturing them the way they do to others. But they sure don't make it easy.

O.k., enough whining, Schoolboy.

Want to Know What My Friday Morning Was Like?

We've been working on five-line poems in the past week: two nouns joined by a conjunction, prepositional phrase, subject and verb, and participial phrase - all meant to evoke more than explain. See what you can sleuth from this self-portrait (not as bad as it sounds, I promise!):

Neglected zipper,

and a morning beard untended,

upon his shirt red marker stains,

teacher of writing lost in words,

composing himself into a mug shot.

Informal Poll For You

To attend a potential 20th year high school reunion, or not to attend a potential 20th year high school reunion? That is the question.

Pretty sure I already know my answer, but I would love some input and brief explanations for your answers.

Irritation Station

That sums up my mood today, which is a shame since I haven't posted in so long (grading papers every night - hellllllp!), and things have mostly been off to a great start. But the past week was a trial, and when I finally sat down to post an update on Tuesday, we figured out our DSL modem had crapped out on us. Just got the new one today, and all appears well with the internets. But, withdrawal was an issue.

Update #1 - The Guest Speakers
As you may have seen in my comments, we were all prepared for an intervention with Ms. New Teacher over our uneasy feelings regarding her boyfriend and his brother coming to speak to the kids. But the evening before that happened, it turns out, another intervention occured: she and some of the other women English teachers had a blowout over the way she's been dressing (too provocatively), and she left school distraught. Fortunately - oh, most fortunately - I wasn't there. The next day, sensing a need to mend fences, no one had the heart to try and pull the "guest speaker rug" out from under her (there is a rather clever pun in that last phrase,I must say, if you can guess the country the guest speakers' parents are from). However, we did let her know some of our concerns, and we all felt a little better about it going in, albeit begrudgingly. Well, turns out the guys were really rather good. Their father was an enemy of the extremist regime which took over their country, and the family had to flee because of a hit out on him. They both praised America and Americans, and said we were loved among the populace in said country and its neighbors. They both said they wholeheartedly support both wars of the post-911 era. And, they both denounced the religious extremists who they believe warp their religion.

Now, if this had been a session of Meet the Press, there were probably many things they could have been grilled on, by me or others, as to the history of their religion and how it relates to current happenings. But at least there was no dissembling on their parts when it came to the topic of terrorism - they didn't even go for the "its partly due to decisions of the American government" line. And, considering the story they told of their family's terrifying flight, I think there is good reason to believe their sincerity.

Update #2 The Classes
Through the first two weeks I was absolutely in love with my classes. Then, as usual, they got comfortable and began showing themselves in the glory that is the full human being. Still love them, but this is when love becomes more the verb and less the sentiment.

I will say that among the kids in my honors class are a large number of first rate writers - best I've ever seen, and their personal narratives have been unbelievably good. On many occasions the writing has not only been outstanding, but has exhibited courage that makes me envious. My favorite piece is by a girl who recounted her experience of having a growth removed from her spine at age 5. The growth was so aggressive that the doctor's couldn't get it out in time to save her from partial paralysis, but she rehabilitated and rehabilitated, and finally was able to walk again. Today she is a normal teen whose right leg drags a bit, but who is also a first-rate violinist in a youth orchestra and probably the smartest person in a smart class. A beautiful story, beautifully written, by a beautiful young soul.

Update #3 The Soap Operas
Nasty political comments from English teachers who walk lock-step in the manner you might expect, nasty comments about the armed forces, catty comments about fellow carpoolers, yearbook kids with simmering feuds, mumbled misgivings about new teachers, mumbled misgivings about old, inflexible teachers, reluctance to share resources, grumpiness about our starting time (7:10 am!), hurtful gossip, dissimulations, grouchiness about graduation projects, snapping at secretaries, slamming doors, crying.

One month of work, and I've seen, or heard all of it. Such is the warp and woof of the school day. O.k., so that's not the whole picture, but I told you what kind of mood I'm in today...

God grant us grace.

Best Quote Ever

From one of my honors students, in answer to a student info. sheet I give out at the beginning of the year:

Q: What are your strengths in English? What would you like to improve upon?

A: I'm good at reading and writing; grammar is a great weariness.

Yes, grammar is a great weariness, young lad. As are a number of other things...


In (not so) unrelated news, one of our new first year folks, fresh out of college, is basically sweet, and will probably be a very good teacher. However, she has to be taken in small doses at this point - way too much energy without enough direction. So, for the past eight days or so she has shared, every day, the fact that she currently dates a young man whose family is originally from a country we currently have troops in. And, this young man is devoted to a religion that, let's just say, has a controversial standing in post-911 America. Not only this, but because 10th grade in NC is devoted to World Lit., she has booked said boyfriend and his brother to come speak to 10th grade English classes next Wednesday and inform the kiddos all about said religion, pending approval from the principal.

Now, first of all, I'm not at a place in my unit plans where this is convenient yet (we'll read Persepolis later on), but to be a team player my classes will attend if the approval comes through. I would rather spend the time getting across the fundamental reading and writing practices in my classes that it takes a couple of weeks to establish. Second, I get the sneaking suspicion that there is a "let's educate the hick kids" mentality here. Third, even if these guys are absolute princes who have the best intentions of "bridging misunderstandings" (as I'm sure they are), what makes them expert enough to give such a talk, and how willing will they be to face questions about why many fellow Americans legitimately feel uneasy about their religion? Fourth, is this really, perhaps, just an outgrowth of overexuberant puppy love and a desire to show off Mr. Boyfriend (don't think they've been dating long)? Fifth, can someone get me Mark Steyn on the phone, and see if he can make the talk?

New School Year Preview (Part 2) - You Know You're Old When...

... you look out among the sea of faces at your first big faculty meeting of the year, and notice a young new teacher who... OH MY GOD! SHE WAS MY EDITOR FOR THE FIRST EVER YEARBOOK CLASS I TAUGHT IN '03/'04, AT MY FORMER SCHOOL! SHE WON MY OUTSTANDING STUDENT AWARD FOR THAT CLASS!

It's true - This morning I looked over at where the business/marketing teachers were sitting, and I saw Suzie (not her real name, obviously), and didn't trust my eyes, so flipped through the faculty list in my new handbook. Sure enough, that's her. So as soon as the principal was finished talking, I rushed over to her, hugged her, and spent the rest of the day basking in the glow of getting to work with a former student. She seemed tickled and pleased about it as well. Last I had seen of her, she had no inclination towards teaching, but changed her mind between her sophomore and junior years of college. This is her first year in teaching, and her first real job!

ISN'T THAT JUST SOOOOO COOL!

Can you tell I'm excited? It was a great day all around actually, and I can't say that about every "first day back" I've ever had. For one thing, miracle of miracles, we were given half of the day to work in our rooms - trust me, that's quite a bit for Day 1. More later in the week.

New School Year Preview (Part 1) - Why My Kids Will Hate Me

Yes, first workday is Monday. Sigh.

Well, might as well jump in the mud and get going from the start, which is what my kids are going to have to do. Partially because I'm brainwashed from my Writing Project experience of the summer, and partly because I was veering this way by the end of last semester anyway, I can proudly declare why my students will hate me this year:

They are going to write their asses off, more than ever! First, I'm incorporating a modified writer's workshop into my classes, where we will spend at least two days a week on nothing but writing and conferencing, and by the end of each quarter the students will be responsible for having finished several pieces of writing in a variety of forms. Many of the deadlines will be open-ended up to the report card deadline, which means self-discipline will be a premium quality. Those who wait until the last minute to do things (and we all know there will be several) will hear me say, "Ooops, too bad. I had plenty of time to help you the last eight weeks, but precious little now. Looks bad for you."

Also, continuing what I started to do last semester, I'm making all tests written tests, in one way or another. As I tell the kids, "Written tests, once I've told you what's expected on them, actually give you a better chance to show what you've learned. You are actually more in control of your grade than ever before." This not only forces the kids to think more, and in a higher-level fashion, but I am happy to reward effort, and I don't have to worry about cheating or guessing. And believe it or not, written tests are actually not that hard to grade when a rubric has been set up ahead of time.

So, we will write, write, write, and as much as possible, I will write alongside the little urchins in an act of solidarity against their outrageously unfair teacher.

Sound schizophrenic enough?

I'm Late on This, But Can't Help Pointing It Out...

Rarely will you see me frequenting a Starbucks. Wyfe, on the other hand, is much more of an enthusiast, though to her credit, she just likes the coffee, and rolls her eyes at Starbucks pretensions.
Well, we always stop at the Starbucks drive-thru at the beginning of long interstate trips back home after visiting either my parents or hers. I always dread it when I'm the one in the driver's seat, because I have to repeat the nine or ten ridiculous words it takes to communicate Wyfe's order. As for me, I just ask for a medium coffee, which I guess ends up translating as, irritatingly, a regular "Grande".

Well, now I know I have at least one fellow traveler. This is from a while ago, the June issue of The New Criterion, but can't be passed up. From the wonderful, and curmudgeonly, media critic James Bowman:

On my occasional visits to Starbucks, the ubiquitous coffee merchants, I try to refuse to use the private language the company has thoughtfully provided for the convenience of its patrons. Sometimes I forget and ask for Tall, Grande, or Venti, but usually I ask, defiantly but with some embarrassment, for small, medium, or large, because I resent being forced into a greater intimacy than I desire with the Starbucks corporate culture. I want to be a customer, not a member of the Starbucks Club who validates his membership along with his entry on the premises by speaking the Starbucks idiolect. Doubtless the marketing department in Seattle has tested it to a fare-thee-well and found that most people are not like me; most people are happy to use the special, European-sounding jargon—the Stargot, as we might call it—because it flatters them into the belief that, along with their coffee, they have purchased at a very reasonable price admission to an exclusive circle of coffee-drinkers who are socially a cut or two above those who drink from the caffeine-springs of Dunkin’ Donuts or Ma’s Diner, where they use ordinary English.
Back on the other coast but with considerably less subtlety, The Washington Post has long been engaged in a similar exercise... [there is a] never-ending radio advertising campaign for the Post which ends with that newspaper’s supremely irritating slogan: “If you don’t get it, you don’t get it.” Was there ever such a crass appeal to intellectual snobbery by an organ purporting to be an arbiter of public tastes and morals?...

... Naturally, no one wants to be outside the circle of those who “get it”—a formulation once applied mainly to jokes but now used to indicate a political group-identity which defines itself in part by stressing the stupidity of those who do not share it. To be among those who “get it” is not only to hold a certain set of views that make one reliably progressive but also, by holding it, to be a member of the progressive club—which, like the Starbucks Club, is decidedly up-market socially.

The "Stargot", indeed!

The Good Tears Were Sad Tears

With all the fun I've been making of the women-folk lately, especially in conjunction with the Writing Project experience, let me give you a small vignette about one day when I didn't mind the tears at all:

As mentioned previously, we were split into peer writing groups of four, and within these groups we read and gave each other feedback about our pieces, both online, and in person. In my group there was one lady in her fifties, one in her mid-thirties, and one in her mid-twenties.

The latter of these is a fifth grade teacher, and to observe her personality - bright, friendly, wholesome, and oh-so-maternal - is immediately to know that elementary education fits her well. Other clues about her cropped up each day during the first week of our institute: she baked breakfast goodies for us twice, she fussed over her hair and clothes when others wanted to take pictures, her necklaces and bracelets always matched her pants, and when she gave her presentation, she wore heels and a fairly formal black dress. She even told us that she and a few friends had started a cooking club together. If I had to pick one person I know who could go back in time and survive, probably thrive, as a stereotypical 1950's-style housewife, it would be her. Her first writing, a childhood memoir, was about the aw-shucks vacations her family always took at a cabin by the lake (yes, they even toasted marshmallows), while all her other friends went to Disney, or Cancun, or Hilton Head. I wondered aloud if she felt a jealous tension over what her friends got to do compared to her, and in total seriousness she said, "Nah." All of this made me privately giggle a bit - which is probably patronizing - but I meant no harm. She was obviously a wonderful person, but a bit of a throwback, and without much life experience yet.

Or so I thought. The next writing assignment was a personal narrative, in which we were to explore a formative event in our lives. We read these in our peer groups, and we were even being recorded as part of a study on peer writing feeback. My young friend waited until last to read hers, and I sensed a different confidence about her this time, like she knew she had something good. From the first couple of paragraphs, it was obvious I was right. Her writing was funny this time, all about her hair: the travails she had as a young girl when her mother wouldn't let her wear it long, and then the absolute self-esteem she had, once she was allowed long hair, from her teen years to the present. Even once she was married and gainfully employed, she occasionally had nightmares that her hair had been all cut off. These were mere dreams, though, and life seemed to be sailing along.

As she read, I knew some turn of fate was coming, but never suspected it would be too bad - perhaps just a mild admonition life brought along to remind her that looks aren't everything. When the turn came, though, we were all unprepared for the gravity and immediacy of it. She read of how, merely a few months ago, she miscarried a baby, and her beloved grandmother died, back to back. She reached this point in the paper so suddenly that I could almost hear my own internal "thud". Concurrently, all the confidence in her voice fell off, and she began sobbing. This was obviously awkward, and one of the other group members offered to read for her, while I dug in my pocket for a tissue to offer. She took the tissue, but wanted to keep reading, and she did, though with difficulty. Turns out, on the day her baby would have been due, she scheduled a hair cut, wanting to take inches off, wanting to feel like she could make a fresh start. When it was over, her feelings of brokeness, alas, had gone nowhere, and she finally had to squarely face herself and her grief.

It was a stunning story, and a stunning effort to finish reading it, all the while fighting back tears. We all eventually tried to offer a few pointers here and there about how to improve the piece, but frankly it needed no improvement - not then, anyway. The best I could tell her, in the end, was, "That was an awesome piece of writing, but I'm so sorry."

Two days later, when it came time to pick one member of the peer group to read to everyone, we told her she was the pick, and crossed our fingers. She read with absolute composure, but absolute conviction, her voice not breaking until the final sentence.

In the face of her bravery, who cares what I was thinking, really, but I'll tell you anyway. What I felt was absolute pride in my young friend, who I know now, better than I did before, will some day be a perfect mom.

How I Know I'm A Tough Guy

So, in what situation would I consider myself tougher, grittier, and more battle-tested than a stout, 27 year-old high school wrestling coach (and former state champion wrestler) who appears in excellent shape?

Why, when negotiating the world of women, naturally (Wyfe would totally agree, I'm confident). You see, this young fellow and I were the only two men in the Writing Project class this summer, surrounded and outnumbered by a ratio of 7-1. The women ranged in age from mid-20's to mid-60's, and they really were a fun group to work with. However, you know in a situation where over the course of three weeks everyone was asked to write and share childhood memories and personal narratives what was probably coming; you also know that when it's time to say goodbye and head off in different directions after bonding for three weeks that emotions will be outporing.

One activity we had to complete was to "spy" on someone over the course of the three weeks, careful not to reveal who they were, and then produce an appreciative piece of writing (I wrote a light-hearted sonnet, for instance) about them based on what we learned and observed. The last thing we did on Friday was share these and reveal who we were "spying" on. My man-creeps almost got the better of me when we were told to form ourselves into a "sharing circle" for the occasion, but I managed not to complain. Then the festivities began and, oh my, did the tears flow. After only the second presentation the lady sitting to my right spontaneously burst into sobs, and I actually wanted to turn and admonish her with a stern, "Oh, stop it!" Instead, I accepted my place in the universal order and fulfilled my given duty by sighing heavily, and then walking across the room and getting the Kleenex box for her. From then on I amused myself (and others) by being irascible tissue guy, walking the box around wherever it was needed. As for my poor young compadre, who is not married or dating seriously, he seemed shell-shocked, a wrestling coach out of water. Just follow my lead, kid - I'll see you through this.

I did suggest, for the sake of next year's two or three beleaguered male participants, that they at least relocate the "sharing circle" to a sports bar.

Digging Out

Well, the Writing Project summer institute is over, and I feel like I just went through another school year all within the span of three weeks. Seriously - as we reached the end of the line last week, I had that same vibe I get when we enter the last week of the school year: satisfaction, relief, and fatigue all at once. Now I've got three weeks to recover, and organize the tremendous amount of information I received at the institute, before I report to duty. Well, realistically, let's make that a week to recover and organize, and then two weeks to get ready before reporting to duty.

After persevering through it all, though, I can now proudly call myself a Fellow of the National Writing Project.

So, was it all worth it, and what was a typical day like at the institute? Here is my attempt at digestable answers to those burning questions, with a couple of follow-up posts coming soon:

Was it worth it? Absolutely. On a purely selfish level, I was able to work on my own writing, receive great feedback on it from others, and get encouragement to write more for potential publication. We'll see where all that goes, but it's nice to have the enthusiasm. On a professional level, the institute provided a high level of useful training and knowledge, which anyone who has to attend professional development of any kind can appreciate. Not every minute or every presentation was completely outstanding, but most of what we did was at least useful, and at most convinced me to make life-altering changes in the classroom. In addition, there was a tremendous sense of community built up between all of the participants, and I can now count several new, genuine friendships as a result. More on both of these latter points soon.

What was a typical day like? Well, first it was nice that our instructors and fellow participants were all fairly laid back, but not frivolous with time. Most mornings started with a short writing activity or idea, and then the days were filled with a combination of the following: presentations by participants, writing peer group meetings for feedback/criticism on our own work, demonstrations of writing activities, short lectures on academic research about writing, reading our work aloud, developing lesson plans or writing assignments for our students, and learning all about Web 2.0 (I hate that pretentious phrase) and what it might offer writing teachers (wikis, class blogs, class eZines, digital storytelling, Delicious, aggregators, etc.). Most of the web stuff was new to me, and I can't say I'll use much of it, but will use some.

Yes, we had homework, too, which is a real pain in the ass when you also have to get your child to and from evening swim lessons, and do stuff like, you know, eat. But it was mostly writing, and I'm fairly pleased with the final products. Without the deadlines, I would never have written as much as I did.

In the next couple of posts I'll go into some detail on a few of the things I've learned, what I've decided to change in the classroom, and how much crying I had to put up with (you can guess, I'm sure).