Christian Music

Note to Self:

There is no such thing as Christian Music. And you shouldn't use the term, because you don't believe in Christian coffee, Christian breath mints (though you've been given some before, no?) or Christian copy machines (though you've been known to cry out God's name when using them). I get it. Songs can have Christian philosophical themes. However, you don't refer to songs as "vaguely implied humanist music" or "racously hedonist with a touch of existentialist music" do you?

You don't get specific with Christian Music, either. When was the last time you rocked out to that amazing Lutheran Music or busted out a Plymouth Bretheran Punk Song? (I have a hunch you would hate Unitarian Rock - it's nothing but silence and a slight nod to skepticism) Ever listened to Muslim Rock? Buddhist Rock? We don't even have a genre dedicated to Hare Krishnas - which is too bad, because if they get anything right, it's the tambourines.

I know it sounds like I'm being picky, but using Christian as a cultural rather than spiritual term dilutes the fact that you're crazy about Jesus and you know that your life has been transformed by a God who is even crazier about you than you are about him.

Sincerely,
John

American Standard

Note to Self:

While it is perfectly acceptable to say, "I Googled that" or "hand me a Kleenex" or "I need a band-aid," there are some products that are not instantly recognizable by their brands.  Next time you visit a coffee shop, please don't ask to use their "American Standard."  You handled it well, my friend.  You avoided saying, "I need to pee on the American Standard," but you still let the brand name drop at the wrong time.  Just call it a toilet and the barista will be far less confused.

Sincerely,
John

The Other 99%

Note to Self:

Remember that time when you stepped over the street kid who was shot in Brazil?  Remember how people ignored it because it was the favelas?  Remember weeping in the hotel room while you scrubbed the blood off your hundred-dollar sneakers?  Me, too, John.  Me, too.  You are not the other ninety-nine percent.  You woke up this morning knowing that you would have food and shelter.  You have a steady job.

I'm not suggesting that you let the rich and powerful off the hook. I am, however, suggesting that if you fail to see things from a global perspective, you will participate in occupying with a sense of anger and arrogance that misses your own role in power and privilege.

Sincerely,
John

Occupy

Based upon a post between Quinn and me.

Note to Self:

It's become trendy to talk about occupying Wall Street and occupying Boston and occupying all things within this world.  And yet . . . I am an occupier.

For all the talk of occupying Arizona, the reality is that I live on occupied land, taken by conquest first from indigenous nations and then from Mexico. I can complain about trust fund babies and nepotism, but I am the beneficiary of a geographic trust fund. By accident of birth, I inherited white, middle class privilege in ways that I am still coming to terms with. I struggle to come to terms with what to do with this reality.

As a teacher, it means I approach students with the knowledge that I have to step down humbly in ways that I might not in the suburbs. It means I have to remind parents that they should hold as much or more power than me (despite being marginalized). It means I have to be honest in teaching social studies instead of being "neutral." I need to tell students about American conquest and genocide.

John, you don't need to occupy more.  You need to occupy less.  You need to listen more and speak less. You need to be careful of the social hegemony that you inherited.  You need to approach relationships (especially with students) with a very cognizant sense that you are part of the occupation and that if you are a part of liberation, it must come through humility.

Sincerely,

John

Rigor

Note to Self:

When you describe critical thinking, use the word "critical thinking."  When you describe challenging work, use the word "difficult" or "challenging."  I get it.  Sometimes you have to use the trendy edu-word, but this word is trendy in all the wrong ways.  It's the Lady Gaga of educational nomenclature.  What does it mean anyway? Is it more work?  Is it more difficult work?  The truth is that you're not after work at all.  You want to see learning.  Screw the rigor.  If it's meaningful, it will be challenging.  If it helps kids think better about life, it's enduring.  And ultimately enduring, meaningful and interesting will always be more valuable than rigorous.

Sincerely,
John

Purchasing Power

Note to Self:

You don't really understand what "purchasing power" means and whether or not it is on the decline during this economy.  On a visceral level, you get that things cost more and your wages haven't gone up.  You know this when you realize that you recognize the risk of letting your own children go uninsured.  But don't use the term "purchasing power."  The truth is that the top one percent have been purchasing power over the last few decades and now you're screwed.  Congrats.

Sincerely,
John

Artisan Bread

Note to Self:

Don't buy into the hype.  Don't sell out to their nomenclature.  Store-bought sourdough bread, no matter how tasty, is not artisan if it's not made by an artist.  You know too many people who kneed their own bread and you recognize that it truly is the work of an artisan.  So, let's keep it that way.  Call the sourdough bread what it is: a hell of a loaf made by wonderful machines in all of their shining glory.

Sincerely,
John

Underpaid Athlete

Note to Self:

Yesterday at the baseball game, you referred to a high-performing player earning the league minimum as an "underpaid athlete."  He earns more in one season of "league minimum" salary than you earn in a decade of teaching (even with your master's degree and extra duty work).  Perhaps in Baseball Land he's a bargain.  But in your world, he's wealthy.  You can continue to cheer for the team and, on some level, live out your childhood dreams vicariously through multi-millionaire athletes.  But when it's over and you arrive home to three kids clinging onto your leg and begging to play a game of catch, you'll realize the true meaning of "the love of the game."  

believe in evolution

Note to Self:

The other day you said that you "believe in evolution and in creation." The truth is that you believe in creation, but you accept evolution. You toss around phrases like "how we are designed" or "that's how I was made," believing as you do that there is an oft-invisible creator who formed you and had you in mind before matter existed.

And yet . . . you accept evolution. You've studied the theories. You've paid attention to the science and it's pretty clear. If some people can choose not to "believe" in evolution, can I choose not to believe in germs? (Sure makes camping easier) You've observed how animals have adapted to the environment and so, unequivocally you accept descent with modification and yet you believe in decent with modification and perhaps even better than decent with modification when you really pay attention to what God has done in your life. Some say you can't believe in God and science. And that's fine. Believe in one. Know about the other. They're not incompatible.

Sincerely,
John

Brutally Honest

Note to Self,

You don't need to be militant.  You don't need to be brutal.  Ever.  You can't be brutally courageous, brutally loving or brutally empathetic.  You never hear someone say, "I'm just going to be brutally humble with you right now and say that I really suck.  Like, I'm a really crappy person."  The point is that virtue doesn't belong with brutality.  So, when you start a sentence with "brutally honest," what you're really saying is, "I'm going to be honest in a way that is angry and full of loaded language rather than in a way that respects nuance and paradox and uses a great sense of empathy."  See, honesty requires multiple viewpoints.  It requires truth and truth requires paradox.  Even "strong words" must be spoken with a sense of reticence and a recognition that semantics matter.  So, don't be brutally honest.  Be lovingly honest.  Be humbly honest.  Be vulnerable in your honest.  But don't, under any circumstance use honesty as a means of brutality.

Love,
John

Tough As Nails

Note to Self:

Micah is right.  Nails aren't that tough.  They're always being hammered away, put into places to stay forever.  But the minute they're not useless, they're pulled out again by the hammer.  Maybe we should be tough as a hammer.  Or maybe we should follow Micah's advice and say "tough as ants."

Sincerely,
John

Compulsory Education

Note to Self:

Quit calling it "compulsory education."  If parents want to un-school, home-school, alt. school or private school their kids, they are allowed to in your state.  That's like complaining about compulsory libraries or compulsory parks.  Public education is an institution that we share as a local politic and participation is truly voluntary.  Some people might claim that it's still compulsory, since parental tax money goes to pay for it even when they don't use the service.  They say it's wrong to fund things that are morally reprehensible and deadly to children.  You know better.  Schools aren't deadly to kids.  Now war, on the other hand, is morally reprehensible and deadly to children.  So if you run into a neo-con who complains about compulsory education, just ask about our compulsory war policy and see how they answer it.

Sincerely,
John

battles

Note to Self:

You're wrong when you say, "You have to pick your battles," when referring to your students.  The truth is you never want a battle.  You don't want a war.  You don't want shrapnel wounding students and you don't want attrition taking innocent lives.  So, don't choose your battles.  Instead, remember that you're fighting for them (even in discipline) because ultimately the real wars are poverty and racism and injustice and ignorance.  Those are the battles you need to choose.

Sincerely:
John

icing on the cake

Note to Self:

There have been times you have reduced something to being "icing on the cake," as if the aesthetic and enjoyable are merely superfluous, ornamental elements of life.  The truth is that icing is the best part of the cake. You would never consider eating cake alone.  It would be a bland, high-calorie muffin.  But my God, add some frosting and it becomes one of the best things in life.  Try busting out an frosting-free cake at your next birthday party and see if it's "just icing on the cake." It could be the best baked cake and everyone will still remember you as that douche bag that tried passing off a giant muffin as a cake.

I'm thinking maybe your use of the phrase goes deeper.  On some level, you buy into the American Gothic, stoic, orderly waspy value system.  You see something as necessary only if it's functional (you own one item of jewelry and you don't own a watch).  You don't understand why people care so much about cars or clothes and on some level, that's all noble.  But you should know better.  Enjoy the icing on the cake.  Enjoy a slow pint of hefeweizen or a cup of coffee or the sheer enjoyment of dipping a spoon into a fresh jar of peanut butter or popping bubble wrap, because life would suck without the icing.

Sincerely:
John

Summer Vacation

Note to Self:

You didn't have a vacation.  You weren't baking in coconut oil, sipping a margarita and sleeping in until eleven.  You didn't lounge around on lazy boy, curling up to a novel and sipping iced coffee.  You didn't go to someplace exotic, where you could come back and feel the conflicting sense of superiority in America ("Oh God, we have it so good here.  You don't know how other people live") and a smug sense that the locals have taught you something ("They were so poor and yet so happy.")

You spent this summer breaking up fights between the boys and mowing the yard and reading stories and seeing grace in the garden, when you were awestruck by tomatoes transforming into salsa.  All from a tiny seed nonetheless.  And you were even more awestruck when Brenna learned to wave the day.  You planned units and fought off the urge to overplan.  You imagined the students you don't yet know and you had instant-message conversations with students of the past.  You experienced what it was like to stay up late talking to Christy without worrying about how tired you would be when you tried to teach the next day.

Vacation is escape.  There's nothing wrong with escape.  It has its place in life.  However, what you experienced was a sabbatical. You experienced rest and restoration.  Instead of an escape from the banality of life, you got a chance to experience the authenticity of relationships.

So call it Summer Sabbatical.  It has a nice ring to it, doesn't it?  You love alliteration, so that's a bonus.

anger management

Note to Self:

You step up to the sliding glass door and re-live the pain of the pane, shattered by the projectile plate that you threw the ground because someone called immigrants "dirty criminals" and you remembered every student you knew who had been deported. For a moment, you wish you could be a little nicer. A little more pleasant.  A little more Mr. Rogers. A man of many cardigans who says, "Isn't that swell" and "We'll just agree to disagree."

You think that perhaps there is a magical formula to prevent you from ever losing your temper like that again, a way to manage anger.

Then, you step outside, holding Brenna and listening to the rain.  Micah beckons you out from the porch and you stand in the rain.  Then you dance.  You jump.  You smile.  You cry.  Tears of joy.  Tears of release.  You know that it will mean you have to get a new shirt and you'll have to change Brenna and she might eventually cry.  But right now she's laughing and smiling and you cleanse yourself in the monsoon storm.

You're passionate, John.  You're sensitive.  It's something you can't escape.

Nice guys don't get crucified.  They don't get shot on balconies.  They aren't told by the community that the only remedies for their questions is a strong shot of hemlock.

You don't have to be nice.

Really.

You need to be loving, compassionate, kind, even gentle.  But nice? Not so much.

Later at Starbucks as you hear the men talk about the new rules for the Home Owner's Association and you watch one of them get distracted by his blue tooth conversation about professional golf, the truth is confirmed. Life is a vapor and you can't let it pass by in quiet desperation.  It's too short for, "How about the weather?" and afternoons spent watching professional golf.

So, live passionately.  Write books.  Dance with your kids.  Ask hard questions that might lead to scary answers.  Make love to your wife and bear your soul to her.  Share a pint with your friends and talk about something deeper than the local hometown sports team.  Dare to care about your students and teach with energy even when it's late May and their in eighth grade and the Wall of Apathy seems insurmountable.

You know that deep within your soul, the only cure for losing your temper is humility.  Try to manage it and you'll be just as angry, but you'll kill your sensitive, passionate soul.

Sincerely:
John

interactive toys

Note to Self:

I said the other day that I don't believe in "interactive toys."  I should have said "electronic toys."  If it beeps and buzzes and lights up, it's not interactive.  It's not engaging.  It's simply an amusement device.  I don't need Leap Frog to teach Joel how to read.  We can use flash cards and environmental text instead.  Ahh . . . but interactive?  How about that washer box that they turned into a fort?  Or those sticks that have switched from swords to magic wands to catapults?  Or that book (no, not the flat screen iPad, but the one with pictures and pages where they can flip, not virtually, but physically)?  Or the whoopie cushion that Joel is playing with to hear all the different kinds of farts he can make.  Who knows?  I might be screwing them up with my Luddite bent.  Perhaps they need to be Digital Natives, but for now I'm happy with them being native in their own back yard.  I want connectivity to be not so much bars on a screen, but a mind engaged to one's surroundings.

Sincerely:
John

terribly

Note to Self:

You often use the word "terribly" to describe things that are far from terrible.  Like the other day at the grocery store when you said to the clerk (I'm not sure why they're called clerks instead of employees aside from perhaps the cool connotation of a slightly indie film), "I'm terribly sorry but do you know where I can find the peanut butter."  There was nothing terrible about the apology aside from the fact that you really had nothing to be sorry about.  I don't get the sense that he was seriously focussed on the task at hand. After all, he was stocking toilet paper not writing a doctoral thesis.

Sincerely:
John

practicing

Note to Self:

Sometimes you get really insecure about your faith.  I'm not sure why.  You believe in Jesus, but that doesn't mean you wear an acronym bracelet or decorate with lighthouses (because nothing says "I love God" like a large industrial building beckoning ships selling cheap plastic crap from China).   Sometimes you ask people if they are a "practicing Christian," as if faith requires a person to do some drills at the gym.  It's your identity.  It's your world view.  A person would never say, "I'm an American, but I'm not really practicing.  You know, I basically just barbecue on Memorial Day and blow shit up on the Fourth of July and sometimes I wear a WWJD? bracelet (What Would Jefferson Do?)  Beyond that, I don't really practice my American identity."

Sincerely:
John

that really sucks

Note to Self:

When you heard that the Taylors' son had cancer, the best response would have been to cry with them.  If any words were possible, you could have scrounged around your lexicon and found something better than "that really sucks."  I know you didn't say it flippantly and perhaps your body language communicated something deeper.  But "that really sucks" is a phrase you say when someone drops a smart phone in the toilet or loses a ticket for an important sporting event.  When a kid has cancer, the world shatters and it demands something deeper than words - perhaps sobs or groans or an open ear.

Sincerely:
John

Scientific Method

This post was inspired by Jerrid Kruse and his amazing blog

Note to Self:

Science isn't a methodology.  It's a process, perhaps, but a messy one.  Don't let the men in tight pants and whigs nail you down to their mechanical clockwork universe. Science is the art of observation, ping-ponging back and forth between asking questions and observing data and making conclusions (that are often hypothesis).  Sometimes the "experiment" is first or last or middle.  If science were a narrative, it would be a postmodern one - like Memento.  If Joel and Micah have taught you anything, it's that science doesn't have to happen in a lab.  It doesn't always require goggles and lab coats.  Sometimes it's about

Sincerely:
John

you know what I mean?

Note to Self:

People know what you mean.  You aren't in a foreign country.  You aren't a totally opaque, inarticulate communicator.  So, when you constantly ask, "you know what I mean?" or "Does that make sense?" you are either insulting your intelligence or the intelligence of others.  I've met your friends.  They are not too shy to tell you when you are failing to communicate well.  Some of them seem to enjoy telling you that.  So maybe you can ditch that phrase and just say what you mean.

Sincerely:
John

jump-start

Note to Self:

A few times yesterday you mentioned that Arizona needs to "jump-start" the economy.  Wrong.  The economy crashed.  No surprise, really.  It was the Yugo of all economies, built on a sprawling suburban housing market.  What else do we have?  A few call centers.  They have those in Dubai, too.  When something completely crashes you don't try to jump-start it, you redesign it.  You rethink it.  You create an entirely different system.  What's the answer?  It's not your decision.  You're not an economist.  But you know the answer has nothing to do with a quick jump-start.

Sincerely:
John

consequences

Note to Self:

Sometimes you use the word "consequence" to justify the remaining elements of behaviorism within you. I hear you say things like, "A kid who tags in school needs a consequence." Wrong. That kid needs a change of heart. But forcing a child to leave school for a few days won't make a kid quit tagging. You know from experience that when a kid tags and is caught, he or she will almost always volunteer to paint over it. But if you force this act, you rob a child of a chance to practice empathy and face the natural results of an action. So can we start calling "consequences" what they really are: bribery and extortion?

Sincerely:
John

Literacy

Note to Self:

Aaron Eyler is right.  Education is addicted to using literacy for everything that is not literacy. Even when it's used, it often doesn't encompass anything that one would use in true literacy.  Is a child technological literate if he can write a blog?  Not so much.  He doesn't know about the character development of blogging and how it's changing us as people.  He doesn't think about the setting of digital interaction.  He hasn't thought about the themes of blogging and the larger conflict of man vs. machine.  It's a misnomer we would never use in other contexts.  Who would ever use attention math?  It's trite and annoying.  Last year, I heard about empathetic literacy, citizenship literacy, global literacy, awareness literacy, 21st century literacy, digital literacy and technological literacy (how that's different from digital literacy, I'm not sure).  Why don't we try focusing on how to make students literacy literate instead?

Sincerely:
John

child marketing

Note to Self:

You used the term "brilliant child marketing" to describe Disney. Every major diaper company has Disney characters on them - call it branding or indoctrination, but it isn't marketing.  Not when they aren't mature enough to understand.  The positive? It's your child's chance to do to Disney what they'll do to your child: fill them full of crap. So maybe we can ditch the term "child marketing" and call it what it is - the economic pimping of little kids minds.

Sincerely:
John

Google

Note to Self:

Google doesn't own your mind.  Although they now organize your e-mail, your documents and your calendar, Google is not your master.  They are the world's most powerful advertising agency.  So, don't give them free advertising by always inserting the word "Google" instead of "search."  You took it to a new level yesterday when you couldn't find your shoes and you said you'd have to Google it.  In fact, the minute Google knows where your shoes or keys or mojo have gone is the moment they know too much about your life.

Sincerely:
John

funny

Note to Self:

You often use the word "funny" when things are not funny.  Typically, it is after a story that someone tells that isn't really comical or tragic or insightful.  So, you say "that's funny" as an act of consolation.  It's the box of Tide that the loser gets when he's failed at Family Feud.  Other times, you use "that's funny" to describe things that are anything but funny. "I find it funny that we bail out multi-billion dollar banks but try and hold first year ELL students accountable for an English-only standardized test."  Actually, you don't find that funny.  Not in the least. Not "ha ha" funny for sure, but not even in that lstm funny (laughing silently to myself).  The truth is that it infuriates you. So, perhaps it's time to ditch that word before you end up starting a sentence with "the funny thing about genocide. . ."

Sincerely:
John

fast food

Note to Self:

You asked someone yesterday if there were any fast food places near the training. Wrong term, John. Fast food is neither fast nor food.  So perhaps when you see fast food, you should choose one or the other.  Either fast or find food.  Next time call it what it is: deep fried processed chemicals.

Sincerely:
John

ethnic food

Note to Self:

You used the term "ethnic food" at the grocery store yesterday.  What you wanted to say was "Mexican spices" but you tailored to the vapid terminology used by supermarket marketers. You know better.  All food is ethnic.  Food never exists in a cultural vacuum.  Except perhaps Kraft Mac and Cheese.  That's pretty much tailored to a non-existent global, monolithic fast food culture.  Oh, and Pop Tarts.  Yeah, and you can add Hot Pockets to the list as well.  Beyond that, let's be honest.  All food is ethnic.

Sincerely:
John