What if kids end up ahead instead of falling behind?

It's not always about book learning and academic skills. In fact, when it comes to life and growing up, it's almost never really about book learning and academic skills. That's been a theme and an emphasis of my writing and my "teaching" over the years, for I look askance at the utilitarian skill and content basis of so much schooling. And, that view is central to my mantra for years that "not every kid needs to go to a four year college," and not every kid needs more time in school.

And, perhaps that's why I am smiling and nodding in approval with the anonymous Facebook post which has been floating around which poses this question:  "What if instead of falling behind, kids are advanced because of this?"

As we struggle and fret and worry and lament all that is being lost by the new normal of "remote learning" in education, and kids not being physically present in brick-and-mortar schools, we might consider some positives that could occur. And, let's be clear, this is not to dismiss or discount the equity gap in education and the serious challenges and access issues this will exacerbate for our neediest students, especially in terms of socioeconomic disparity. However, we can still consider that fortuitous benefits can and will occur for all in some ways. Here are a few interesting questions and thoughts from the post:

“What if they have more empathy, they enjoy family connection, they can be more creative and entertain themselves, they love to read, they love to express themselves in writing.

“What if they enjoy the simple things, like their own backyard and sitting near a window in the quiet.

“What if they notice the birds and the dates the different flowers emerge, and the calming renewal of a gentle rain shower?

“What if this generation are the ones to learn to cook, organize their space, do their laundry, and keep a well run home?

I think we are all considering the ways in which we individually, and society at large, might grow and learn and progress through this strange, unprecedented experience. In the early days of the stay-at-home, I posed the question: How much of the good stuff do you think we'll keep after this is all over?

More family time. More games and art. More creative homemaking. More re-evaluation of the important things. 

What if we focus on how we can all end up ahead?

Where's Our CEO President? Or Should I Say Totalitarian Dictator?

While over the years, I have become less focused on politics with this blog, and while I have definitely lessened my politically-focused commentary since 2016, when I retreated from that process and sought to focus more on art and personal growth, I have been moved to write one political piece in the last couple weeks. And I am even more inclined to post it after the President's bizarre press conference yesterday when he confused himself with a king, or dictator.

In the past few weeks, we have heard the President move from saying, "I take no responsibility at all ..." to his surprisingly brazen and incredibly aloof statement that "when someone is President, the authority is total." This shocking display of ignorance & hubris at the White House was in response to being challenged on the idea that he is the one who will "open the country back up," a statement which baffled me and others because he has done nothing (other than very limited travel restrictions at airports) to "close the country" or lead in any way on the COVID19 crisis. And, other than a few lone voices of dissent, the GOP stands largely silent & passive in the face of a President who declared he has "total authority." Where's the outrage?

And, back to my piece of writing from earlier this week, "Where's Our CEO President?"

While Donald Trump’s time in the White House has been an endless supply of quips and quotes, the Covid-19 pandemic disaster has given pundits and historians the catch phrase that will define his presidency: “I don’t take responsibility at all.” That was the President’s defensive answer to questions about his dissolution of the pandemic response team and the subsequent testing boondoggle that has prevented states and communities from identifying, isolating, and tracking the community spread of the most insidious villain the country has faced in a century. Widespread testing is the obvious first line of defense against a communicable disease threat, and one that other nations like South Korea, Taiwan, and Germany have seamlessly implemented. It’s also one Italy and Spain miserably failed, and from whom the White House and CDC could have learned. Oh, how far we’ve fallen from the days and iconic words of one of the nation’s strongest leaders, Harry S Truman and the sign on his desk: “The buck stops here.”

HOWL, and Sound Your Barbaric Yawp

"The spotted hawk swoops by and accuses me—he complains of my gab and my loitering.

I too am not a bit tamed—I too am untranslatable;
I sound my barbaric yawp over the roofs of the world."

Have you heard the howling lately over the rooftops of Denver, or where ever you may be? It's not your imagination, and it's not (yet another) sign of the apocalypse or a rising up of the animal kingdom to take back the world. But it is howling. It's literal howling, though not from the usual suspects.

It's the sound of the city howling -- every night at 8:00 PM, people are heading to their yards or balconies or sidewalks or windows to let out a vigorous howl of utter primal urge ... and perhaps you should, too. As reported by Danika Worthington of the Denver Post, the coordinated howling is the work of two members of the Denver art scene who started a Facebook Group "Go Outside and Howl at 8:00 PM," which has grown to nearly a half million members from Denver to Switzerland to Brazil. Their reason: "what better time to howl than in this time of isolation?"

The practice of howling in the animal kingdom is communication, and it often has a communal aspect, (as anyone with a dog or in a neighborhood with dogs can attest. And, interestingly it actually is seasonal and, at least anecdotally, it can coincide with the full moon, which we just happen to be experiencing right now with the biggest super moon of the year. There is no doubt that something like a howl and primal scream or simply a yell has a cathartic aspect to it -- it can feel really good to just let go verbally. And, there is no doubt a literary or artistic tradition in America to the howl, as can be seen from 80s pop music back to the bard of American literature, Walt Whitman.

Many years ago, I recall watching an episode of the quirky 90s TV dramady Northern Exposure, in which the local DJ Chris Stevens introduced me to the idea of the howl, or to use ol' WW's term, "the barbaric yawp."  Chris, who often used his show "Chris in the Morning" to read from some classic literature, was reading from Whitman's Song of Myself, and he encouraged the residents of Cicily, Alaska to embrace their inner animal and howl or sound their yawp. I believe the concept of the howl or yawp also came up in the 90s literary film Dead Poets Society.

So, if you're feeling the urge to howl, step outside at 8:00 -- "I stop somewhere, waiting for you."

The last scud of day holds back for me;
It flings my likeness after the rest, and true as any, on the shadow’d wilds;
It coaxes me to the vapor and the dusk.

I depart as air—I shake my white locks at the runaway sun;
I effuse my flesh in eddies, and drift it in lacy jags.

I bequeathe myself to the dirt, to grow from the grass I love;
If you want me again, look for me under your boot-soles.

You will hardly know who I am, or what I mean;
But I shall be good health to you nevertheless,
And filter and fibre your blood.

Failing to fetch me at first, keep encouraged;
Missing me one place, search another;
I stop somewhere, waiting for you.

-- Walt Whitman, Song of Myself

Art Hides - Finding Poetry in the Moments

"So I'll tell you a secret instead:

poems hide.

In the bottoms of our shoes,

they are sleeping. They are shadows

drifting across our ceilings the moment

before we wake up. What we have to do

is live in a way that lets us find them."

                                        -- Naomi Nye

"It can be tough" I shared with my students yesterday (remotely, of course) "to see the art and beauty in the dailiness of a world turned upside down. But I wanted to end the week with a cool piece of poetry about finding art in the world. Normally, I would be doing more creative pieces, like this poem, through the spring as a sort of balance to the rigors of prepping for the exam." 

But, alas, I will have fewer opportunities to directly share these glimpses of artistic wisdom with my students, as we are only communicating via the internet, and will (heavy sigh) finish the year doing so so after our school district made the difficult decision to not return to classrooms this spring. So, I simply posted the text of this poem called "A Valentine for Ernest Mann" by Naomi Nye, as well as a blog entry with a video of her reading it. And I asked them to consider taking some time this weekend to simply notice and appreciate the poetry hiding in plain sight.

The idea of the art all around us has been on my mind lately, as I force myself to regularly get up from the desk, where I seem to be endlessly sitting through a schedule of Zoom or Microsoft Teams meetings in between trying to plan a quarter worth of learning about rhetoric into a couple accessible online assignments a week, and I wander the house and the perimeter of the yard. There is art everywhere. It's in the workouts we are doing, the mind-boggling math equations my son leaves scribbled on papers strewn across the coffee table, the snippets of FaceTime conversations I hear my wife and daughter having with friends, the books on the shelves that I haven't noticed for years but now spend an inordinate amount of time browsing, the lazily graceful movements of our betta fish flitting through the plants in his bowl, ... even the strange and surreal newscasts we occasionally (or habitually) succumb to.

Thinking about that beautiful poem from Naomi Nye has reminded me to look back to the poetry of William Carlos Williams who dared us to Dance Russe, or to perhaps find a bit of art in a note left on the kitchen table with some pondering about someone's intention to eat some plums. Williams and his style of Objectivism (which might perhaps simply be an extension of Pound's Imagism) seemed to find the poetry in the natural cadence of our lives, much as Walt Whitman had done fifty or so years before. The artists have always sought to bring our attention to that which we might naturally overlook, even if it's something as simple as how colors and textures work with and against each other in a really funky and cool piece of abstract art.

Art hides. 

But since you might have some extra time on your hands, look for it.

Go Inside a Cup of Coffee

Going Inside

Go inside a cup

of coffee,

swim around in the

richness,

follow the swirls of

cream and find

a pattern to the

chaos;

visit the sweetness

pooling in the bottom,

peer out over the

edges at the

dried drops down

the side.

Balance precariously

on the rim,

then fall backward

into the warm comfort

of coffee on

a cold morning.

           - Michael P. Mazenko

Post-Punk, Power Pop: the Soundtrack of my Gen X Youth

A recent post on my Twitter-feed posed the following question:  If you could only listen to one musical artist for the rest of your life, who would it be? The immediate, instinctive answer for me is REM, without doubt. U2 is a close second. And The Police, including all the solo efforts of the band members, would certainly come in third. These bands could be on an endless loop throughout my life, and in some ways they already are, as each time a song comes up on the radio or Pandora or other playlists, I feel a ripple of memories and feelings from a journey in a musical time machine. The range and development and innovation and reinvention of these musicians are on par with major musical developments throughout the ages, certainly of the past forty years, and it’s impossible to understand the latter half of twentieth century pop culture without a nod to the collective work of Stipe, Bono, Sting, and the boys. Truly, the sounds of post-punk, power pop are the soundtrack of my Gen X life.

Small Town? Gen X? Social Distancing? Read "Downtown Owl"

"Its all so wonky: I live in a town where everybody supposedly knows everyone else, yet I've never spoken to half the people who supposedly know everything about me. I see them on the street, but don't even know their names. How is living in Owl any different from living in Hong Kong or Mexico City or Prague? Is every place essentially identical?"

So ponders Julia, a young teacher from Wisconsin who has transplanted herself to the the small town of Owl, North Dakota, after graduating from U of W and teaching a semester in the city of Chicago. Julia is one of the primary characters in pop culture journalist Chuck Klosterman's novel Downtown Owl, which reads as a series of vignettes about life in Owl over several months in 1983. Other narratives come in the thoughts of Mitch Hrlicka, a third-string quarterback who doesn't like rock music or his sleazy football coach, and Horace Jones, a seventy-ish widower who spends most of his days drinking coffee and chatting with his "colleagues" at the cafe and pondering American history. The lives of these characters are intertwined in general ways as the story moves toward a culminating event in an epic blizzard, but the tenor and appeal of the novel comes in Klosterman's pop journalist-infused psychological study of people of a certain time and place.

Something about this quirky little book really appealed to me, even despite some critics' jabs at the the style and plodding along of the stories, peppered with pop culture references that are certainly a trademark of the author but can at times seem forced or out of place for the setting and theme. For fans of Klosterman's non-fiction, these details aren't a problem, and for people of a certain time and place, like the Gen X youth who came of age in Midwestern towns in the 1980s. Perhaps it is that hovering bit of nostalgia that I'm always aware of, especially after turning fifty. But, as we're all hunkered down and social distancing lately, I'm glad I ran across this book and checked it out of my high school library before we left for spring break. While I'd read CK's non-fiction for years, I had never bothered to pick up Downtown Owl, and I was rather surprised to see it in a contemporary high school library. It was an enjoyable read, one which had me nodding often in amusement and occasionally in painful recognition or poignant recollection.

Nice job, Chuck.

Finding Life in the Dailiness

Here we are alone. Here we are shut off and shut down, alone with ourselves, alone with each other. And, I'm thinking of Phil Connors.

Phil Connors, if you don't know or recall, is the weatherman played by Bill Murray in the film Groundhog Day, and I'm specifically thinking about the scene where he is sitting at the local cafe counter, reading a book, and he notices the piano playing in the background. Phil, who by now has become resigned to his purgatory reliving the same day in Punxsutawny, gets up and finds a local piano teacher and offers her $1000 to teach him. Stuck in a small town with seemingly no escape, and resigned to his fate of an absurd meaningless repetition of the same life day after day, Phil has decided to spend his days learning new things. And through those regular daily choices, he ends up becoming a better person and probably the person he truly wanted to be.

In the modern lexicon of pop culture references, "Groundhog Day" has come to mean monotony and boredom, and we too often use it to describe the repetitive dreariness of life. Yet that interpretation is not really what the Harold Ramis-Danny Rubin movie is about. The message of Phil Connors' predicament and dynamic personal growth is not one of absurd meaninglessness; the film is, instead, a story of existential re-birth. Phil is stuck in his life, and for a long time he rebels against his seemingly hopeless situation, not knowing what do do, but knowing for certain that it's not fair, and it doesn't make sense. After a while -- between 10-30 years by some estimates -- he accepts his situation and, at risk of sounding trite, makes the most of a bad situation.

And that is what is on our minds as we practice "social distancing," which is clearly set up to become the word of 2020, to say the least. As we read the paper and watch the news and check Facebook and Twitter, we are perhaps discovering an avalanche of advice on how to spend our time in isolation. For that time certainly seems like a sentence, but also has the potential to be a gift - the gift of time.  How often have we talked about not having time? I wish I had more time. I would do that if I only had the time. Well, perhaps the time has found us. And this is not to detract from or minimize the anxiety and fear about the struggle and the dire situations many people are facing in a precarious economic and public health situation. The uncertainty is frustrating and unnerving to say the very least. And a service worker who is facing lost wages or the children who are out of school and missing important support systems can't simply say, "Well, great. This is a perfect time to start learning to play the piano, which I've always wanted to do." But here we are faced with an absurd, bizarre, inexplicable situation that has left us alone with time. Time to think. Time to do. Time to wonder.

In the early nineteenth century, Henry David Thoreau "went into the woods because [he] wished to live deliberately." This may be our time to live deliberately, live mindfully, live intentionally. It may be our time to "front only the essential facts of life." It may be our time to explore what really makes us tick, to learn that thing we've always want to know. As John Lennon sang, "Life is what happens while you're busy making other plans." Well, now that those other plans are on hold, we are left with the dailiness of living.

What are the Sounds of Social Distancing?

What are the sounds of social distancing?

When did that become a word, a thing, a step, a plan, a prescription?

What are the sounds of a world trying to come together by staying apart?

What are the sounds emanating through suburban houses and downtown apartments and condos,
as we hear each other, sense each other, try to stay busy, try to stay sane,
and then wonder if it is OK to feel OK with isolation. 

Will we be OK in isolation? Will we be OK with isolation? 

Wasn’t Dr. Putnam’s story of bowling alone a warning?

We are not meant to bowl alone.

Weren’t we just fretting about division and separation and a splintering of our identities?

What are the sounds of a world in uncertainty?

Was that a cough? Can you hear me from six feet away? Can you feel me?

A car on the streets whispers by -- where are they going? 

Is that a delivery truck in the lot at King Soopers? 

Enough with the jokes about toilet paper.

Is there enough toilet paper?

Please don’t fight over the Charmin.

What are the sounds?

What are the sounds of “All Clear”?

What are the sounds of tension easing?

What are the sounds of students and workers returning, of stores restocking,
of cafes and restaurants and coffee shops reopening, of actors acting, of performers performing,
of athletes playing, of airplanes flying, of border restrictions easing, of suspicions fading,
of medical workers relaxing, of bodies healing, of communities healing, of cities healing,
of countries healing, of politics healing, of society healing ….

What are the sounds?

Coming Together by Staying Apart

It seems counter-intuitive, Harry Smith of NBC observed in a video essay that closed the Nightly News broadcast Friday evening: Americans are being asked to come together in the fight to stem the spread of the coronavirus by practicing "social distancing," by staying apart. In this strange, uncertain time at the dawn of 2020, schools are closing and public events are being cancelled postponed or cancelled as cities and communities attempt to protect our most vulnerable and assist the medical community by trying to "flatten the curve." And staying away from each other to decrease the risk of infection is the recommended path. So, the family and I are at home this weekend, and planning to stay a bit isolated for at least a few days or so. And there is so much to ponder and unpack about this practice and its place in this time.

Some interesting thoughts:

In December and January, will we see a rise in birth rates .... or divorce and increased attendance at AA meetings?

Is Generation X, the so-called "latchkey kids" of the 70s and 80s, the most well-prepared to practice social isolation because it's basically in our DNA, and we've been practicing it our entire lives?

Are many men about the discover what their lives are like beyond sports?

Will I finally learn to play piano and improve my drawing and sketching and painting and perhaps study some more French and Chinese and ask my son to teach me some math and get around to finishing all those essays that are languishing in my Google drive and ....?

How much can you really learn from online tutorials?

Nothing Wrong with Snow Days

Amidst the snowy winter of 2019-20, some school districts in Colorado are facing the possibility of needing to extend their calendar beyond the already established end date because of the large number of snow days and snow delays they've already used. The only reason they might be required to adjust the school year is because of the federal mandate that a "school year" consist of 1080 contact hours for students. Specifically the large school districts in Douglas County, JeffCo, and Cherry Creek may need to add days.

And that is simply a bunch of nonsense. 

In Illinois, numerous school districts made news last year by effectively eliminating the occurrence of snow days by mandating that on weather emergency days, students still "attend" and complete lessons via digital platforms and online learning. For example, the school district of Peoria approved Snow Day E-Learning, during which students will complete online assignments or take home packets according to the choice of their parents. That "choice" is necessary for the simple reality that not all families and students can be assumed to have internet access. Additionally, during snow events internet service could be disrupted. So, the Illinois State Board has approved allowing five "learn from home days" in the event of weather emergencies.

And that is also simply a bunch of nonsense.

Everyone in and out of public education knows, or should know, that "seat time" in schools is an entirely arbitrary number, and nothing is guaranteed by presence in or out of the classroom. Many students actually need more than the allotted time to learn while many other students could master standards and complete curricula in far less than the standard of 175 or so "days of instruction." In reality, all of these decisions should be reserved for and decided by individual schools, or at least by the districts. It is the responsibility of the teachers and school administration to be accountable for the learning and to confirm and validate completion of a year of schooling. And no state boards should supersede that authority. And the federal Department of Education should have no input whatsoever.

There is nothing wrong with snow days or snow delays, time in the classroom is entirely arbitrary, schools and families should communicate with each other, and people far removed from the classroom should simply acknowledge how little they know about what's actually happening in the classroom.

Save snow days.

Astros Owner Jim Crane should return the trophy

As the fallout continues in MLB's biggest scandal since the steroid era, the commissioner Rob Manfred has been criticized by pretty much everyone except the Astros and their owner Jim Crane. Recently, Manfred indicated he would not go beyond the current punishment of a $5 million fine and the loss of draft picks, and he would not erase the Houston Astros' 2017 World Championship, and he would not take back the coveted trophy (insulting basically every baseball fan from the age of four to ninety-four by calling the trophy "just a piece of metal"). And that is frustrating many people in and out of baseball. But here's the thing: he shouldn't have to.

Houston Astros owner Jim Crane should want to voluntarily give the trophy back.

The trophy is a symbol of the accomplishment of winning one of the toughest championships in all of sports. And when winners look at the trophy they should be filled with pride and smile about all the hard work and struggle and sacrifice and tears and pain and joy that went into winning it. True winners would want to look at it every day and be filled with joy again and again. But no Houston Astro can actually do that. The trophy is tarnished. It is stained. It is dingy and dented. Any man of integrity would not even want to look at it, much less show it off to visitors and friends. Any many of integrity would not want a reminder of the embarrassment and shame. No man of integrity would want that in his house.

Granted, there are many other things MLB and Rob Manfred can do to enact some justice in the huge cheating scandal. 

But, as far as the trophy goes, Jim Crane and the Houston Astros players should want to give it back.