Arthur bids farewell

Say it ain't so, Arthur.

High quality children's programming that can appeal across so many audiences and views is hard to come by, and that's why the news about the PBS show Arthur, based on the Marc Brown book series, is so hard to take. This week I learned "Arthur is Ending after 25 Years." And with that news, I think a little piece of my second childhood died. Though my children are now in high school and college, the stories of Arthur the Aardvark made an indelible and endearing mark on our family. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if our family sat down to watch an episode today and loved it as much as when the kids were just four or five. 

An executive producer on the show, Carol Greenwald, confirmed on Wednesday that the series would be ending. She said in a statement that episodes of the show would continue to be available on PBS Kids, but that no new ones would air after next year.
“‘Arthur’ is the longest-running kids animated series in history and is known for teaching kindness, empathy and inclusion through many groundbreaking moments to generations of viewers,” Ms. Greenwald said, noting that no other United States-produced series had a longer life on the air.
The statement did not offer a reason for the show’s cancellation. Ms. Greenwald said that the producer GBH and PBS Kids were “continuing to work together on additional Arthur content, sharing the lessons of Arthur and his friends in new ways.”
On the podcast, Ms. Waugh said she did not know whether the cancellation was driven by a ratings issue or PBS just felt that the show needed to be retired. She added that she felt PBS had made a mistake. “To me it just felt evergreen, like it was never going to end. But it did end,” she said.

The special thing about Arthur, the longest-running animated children's show in television history, is that it appealed so broadly. My wife and I were pretty discerning and even picky about the entertainment we showed our kids in the early years. In fact, I wrote about this in one of my earliest op-eds, where I explained why never showed my children the movie Shrek, or many other supposedly kid-friendly films and shows. But there was never a question in our minds about Arthur. It is one of the best children's shows ever, and it's one I would always recommend.

Two Views on Race, Equity, Social Justice, & CRT

When in doubt on an issue, read a diverse selection of sources. Which means moving beyond the inflammatory soundbites of Christopher Rufo when inquiring about topics like race, equity, social justice, and critical race theory.

The book Stamped from the Beginning from scholar and anti-racism advocate Ibrahim X Kendi is certainly an important read for people wishing to understand the ideas about race that are generating such angst in talk radio/television about critical race theory and public education. Kendi won the 2016 National Book Award for his research into racism in American history as derived from the establishment of the slave trade. Granted, as far as generating discussion, there is something to note when an author subtitles a book "the definitive history of racist ideas in America." That sort of approach could beg the question and ultimately squelch the sort of discussion and discourse that is called for on issues of race in America. That said, the scholarship is vast, and when people are discussing ideas about CRT, this book is undoubtedly a defining source.

For an equally well-informed and researched look at race in America, readers will also want to check in with the work of John McWhorter, a linguist and professor at Columbia University, who has been writing about issues of race and language for more than twenty years now. Particularly apt in discussing race in America and ideas about structural or institutional racism are two books by McWhorter: Losing the Race from 200o which theorizes and examines "self sabotage in Black America," and its 2005 follow-up Winning the Race which furthers the discussion by moving "beyond the crisis in Black America." While McWhorter is not writing explicitly about the ideas in Kendi's book (obviously because he preceded that work by a decade), readers will find McWhorter's approach to struggles in the Black community to be a related but alternative view.

Both these men and their work should be part of any legitimate discussion of race, and specifically the Black-White dichotomy, in America.

Life Strategies for Teens

As we head back to school, many teachers will be focusing on not just their content and academic skills, but also on working with their kids to develop those intangible ideas about how to be a successful person beyond just the coursework and the grade. Some might call these ideas "life strategies," and in fact a couple of authors have - Jay McGraw and his dad Dr. Phil McGraw.

When Jay McGraw was just a teenager, he was well-versed in the help that his father dispensed to people on Oprah, and later on his own television talk show. However, as much as Jay appreciated the value of the strategies his dad taught people, he knew the message was not well-adapted to or received by teens. So, he wrote his own version of the modern-age, pop-psychology self help from the talk shows, and he called it Life Strategies for Teens. I respect the book for its style and approach, and I have recommended it to students and their parents for years. 

McGraw's message comes down to ten platitudes:

• You either get it, or you don't.
• You create your own experience.
• People do what works.
• You cannot change what you do not acknowledge.
• Life rewards action.
• There is no reality, only perception of it.
• Life is managed; it is not cured.
• We teach people how to treat us.
• There is power in forgiveness.
• You have to name it before you can claim it.

The Midwessay - “Finding Balance …”

So, a while back I learned of a writing exercise or term I really like - "the Midwessay." It was on a literary and writing website/blog Essay Daily, and there were calls for submissions focusing on individual states. I never completed or submitted my piece, but here is my stream-of-consciousness shot at it.

The Midwest means a natural balance of a hopeful idealism in “the way things ought to be,” and in honest pragmatism about “the way things actually are.” This balanced view is born out of cultural values running back centuries, and it’s hardened by experience. It’s dealing with the weather that happens as opposed to that which is forecast or expected or promised. It’s a place with the moss on a tree or the amount of black fur on woolly worm is every bit as accurate and trusted as the national weather service or the weatherman on television. It can be a taciturn place of few wasted words as easily as it can be spinning long drawn out yarns on front porches that last so long no one remembers how the story started or where it was going. In the Midwest all politics is local. In Iowa, with its disproportionate significance in Presidential primaries, it’s rumored that when asked who they’re voting for or if they support a specific candidate, locals will say, “I don’t know, I haven’t met him yet.” In the flood of 1993 that decimated my hometown Alton, Illinois, I learned it is in those moments that Midwesterners remember there are no political parties during a flood, fire, or tornado. There are just neighbors and a sense of community. It’s a gateway, not a flyover. It’s company picnics and Rotary clubs. Small town homecomings that aren’t about a football game or high school dance, but about carnival games, fish fries, and funnel cakes. The Midwest is, or at least was, a neighborhood where a pediatrician, a journalist, an engineer, a lawyer, a police officer, a factory worker, a teacher, a phone company lineman, and a various small business owners all live in the same neighborhood, or subdivision, in roughly the same size houses.

But will it play in Peoria?

Growing up in southern Illinois, I heard many times the phrase, "Will it play in Peoria?" The wording originates from the late nineteenth century as a catchall phrase to gauge whether an idea or product or theme will appeal to and be accepted by some fictional, generalized version of "mainstream America." Thus, through no real effort or intention of its own, the town of Peoria, Illinois, has become a metaphor and a symbol for the entire country.

And, according to the Washington Post, the mid-size midwestern city has become a new hotspot for real estate investors. Many of the buyer have never seen the town, nor heard of its mythical reputation.

Most of the buyers had acquired their homes through online auctions. None had ever actually been to Peoria; nor did they have any plans to move there. And yet they bid by the dozens, if not hundreds, on homes throughout Peoria’s dying south end, drawn by the desire to own property, an essential piece of the American Dream that had eluded them in the places where they lived and seemed to grow more distant with each passing month. Somehow, they had found a version of that dream online — and in a place called Peoria — that seemed almost as good. “I felt like I had finally found a cheat code,” Culver said.

The story of West Lincoln Avenue’s bizarre summer land rush starts with the deindustrialization of the Rust Belt, which had hollowed out Peoria’s once-thriving south end. It spans decades of growing inequality, which had turned America into a place of winners and losers with less and less in between. The trigger, though, was the pandemic, the recession and the recovery.

In much of the country this spring, low interest rates, bidding wars and pent-up demand had sparked a real estate boom. In California, the median single-family home price hit a record $818,260, up nearly 40 percent since the start of the pandemic. Utah prices surged 30 percent during the same period. By June, economists were using words like “unprecedented” to describe the rise and speculating that in some markets the dream of homeownership might be forever out of reach for most middle-class Americans.

I wish them all the best of luck, and my midwestern longings for the small town Illinois of my youth hope that this new land rush "will play in Peoria."

Vigor, not Rigor

A few years ago, a colleague of mine posed the opinion that he didn't like the feeling around the word "rigor" in schools, or what it implied. His idea and alternative suggestion has stuck in my mind for a while now. And so I explored it in this week's column for The Villager.

A colleague of mine never liked the idea of rigor in schools.

Now that might seem like a shocking or disappointing view for a teacher. Education, as we know, should be challenging and even difficult, for learning valuable new skills is never supposed to be simple. There’s no free lunch, and nothing of value comes easy in life. Thus, whenever critics and reformers talk about public education and lament how American students are supposedly falling behind, they strongly endorse the idea of rigor in education. If it’s not hard, the logic goes, then they’re not really learning anything. However, it’s never that simple. And questioning the idea of rigor is not as passive as it might seem.

For twenty years or so, the idea of rigor has been all the rage in debates about student achievement, education reform, and “fixing our schools.” Rigor is paired with ideas such as grit, standards, basic skills, and achievement gaps in identifying the problems of education and the key factors in improving it. It was back in 2001 that President George W. Bush decried “the soft bigotry of low expectations,” as he teamed with Senator Ted Kennedy on the No Child Left Behind Act which, among other things, promoted high standards for all kids measured through yearly standardized testing. The law also promised all students would achieve at grade level by 2014. And it was in 2009 that President Obama declared “It’s time to expect more from our kids.” But what do people really mean when they say rigor?

It was, as we sat in a meeting discussing student achievement and being responsive to our students' needs, that David first questioned the idea of rigor. A veteran teacher who was a tireless advocate for all kids, he told us, “I just don’t feel good about this idea of rigor.” He’d been listening to discussions of maintaining or increasing rigor in our schools and how any innovation must not compromise our rigor. So, David actually looked up the definition of rigor and learned it is characterized as “demanding, difficult, and extreme conditions, also severity and strictness.” As an educator, he told us, “I find it difficult to feel good about those terms when teaching kids.” The idea of severity and strictness being the guiding principles of our educational practice just doesn’t feel right.

So, David told us he wants to replace the term rigor. Instead, he wants us to plan and teach with a focus on vigor. As an educator, I’m intrigued and excited about that idea. Vigor is characterized as effort, energy, enthusiasm, and robustness. That sounds like the kind of class I want to teach. I imagine a vigorous class would naturally have much higher levels of engagement. And if I know anything about education after nearly thirty years, it’s that an engaged student is much more likely to learn and achieve. As a parent, I know that a class taught with vigor is the type class I’d want for my own children.

Education writer Carol Jago in her book “With Rigor for All” argued for the importance of “teaching the classics to contemporary students.” Her point is that schools must not underestimate students' abilities or avoid certain material because it might be difficult. The key is engaging them in the challenge of learning complex information and skills. To a student, rigor often just means something is hard. And to parents and education critics rigor just means high expectations. In reality, true academic rigor means designing lessons that provide students with challenging but engaging material and activities which actually support them in achieving those high standards and encouraging them to persist even when the work is hard.

Far too often, teachers feel pressure to make sure their class is hard enough. This pressure may be internal, coming from a need to justify the time and effort kids put in to earn the grade. It can also be external, coming from people who associate school with lots of homework or perhaps the media who simply focus on test scores and international comparisons. In reality, the difficulty of a class is not the appropriate way to gauge its value. Ultimately, it’s all about the learning which comes from the students’ engagement with the class. And a class taught with vigor, not rigor, sounds like a pretty good place to start.

David Lynch does TM?

David Lynch blows my mind, as he does everyone's. But sometimes he does it even when he isn't completely weirding me out. This month's New Yorker has a great profile on Lynch and how he's been spending his time during the pandemic. 

Lynch has been living what he calls a “farmer’s life” during the pandemic. “This morning, I woke up at around [long pause] 3:04 a.m.,” he told me. “Then I have my coffee and take a few smokes out on the deck” before meditating, shooting a daily weather report that he posts on YouTube, and moving on to whatever else the workday holds. Sometimes it’s painting or sculpture; other times it’s intentional daydreaming, when he allows his mind to cast about for ideas (“like fishing, I always say”). Occasionally, he designs contraptions, like a urinal that swings out from underneath the sink in his studio. Some of these activities are demonstrated in another, irregular video series he does called “What Is David Working On?” The only people he currently interacts with in person are his wife, Emily Stofle, their eight-year-old daughter, his personal assistant, and his three adult children. Though rumors persist of there being a Lynch television project in the works, he told me that—for now—production work of any kind for him is on indefinite hold. He’s open to the idea of getting back into directing when it makes sense: “I would never say no to anything if I fell in love with the material.”

What I really love about this piece is Lynch's promotion of the ideas of habits and routines as part of mindfulness. Sometimes routines can put us on autopilot, which can easily become mindlessness. But that's not what Lynch is talking about -- instead the routine and habit can actually free our minds up for greater focus and subsequently more creativity and production. I just really dig this. And while I've been meditating daily for a couple years now, my practice can always use improvement and better focus. Reading about Lynch and his commitment to TM has intrigued me to expand my practice.

Brainpickings -- a Humanities treasure trove

Need a daily dose of literature and the arts in a succinct package? If so, you can't really go wrong by checking in with Maria Popova at the Brainpickings blog. Popova's literary labor of love is subtitled "Marginalia on our search for meaning," and it began over fifteen years ago as an inner office email to some friends and colleagues with succinct bits of information that Popova found interesting and wanted to share. It grew from that into a blog and a Twitter feed, and it has become a popular site with an incredible amount of info and links. In fact, Brainpickings is kind of the dream site and project for people like me, as it's much like the vision I had for A Teacher's View when I first started. 

But I don't want to diminish what Popova is doing at Brainpickings as simply a hobby any reader and blogger could produce -- she is incredibly smart, and she is a true workhorse in putting together the engaging descriptions of the humanities subjects she wants to talk about. I can't even fathom the discipline and focus she must have to produce three fully developed and researched pieces a day, week after week for years. Like many great teachers and ideas gurus, Popova is able to discern and distill some real gems from the vast literary and artistic work she covers, and she puts out thoughtful and erudite summaries of content and themes that ultimately invite readers to seek out more and pursue greater depth of knowledge.

Popova is truly an artist, as is her support of the arts and humanities.

Time's Top 100 YA Novels ... of all time?

While the term young adulthood has been around since the early nineteenth century, the term YA to designate a specific genre of literature is a relatively recent innovation. While many authors over the past two hundred years wrote about and even toward the age of adolescence, it was really the 1980s that the genre came into its own. Iconic writers such as Beverly Clearly, Judy Blume, S.E. Hinton, and Cris Crutcher played a key role in the market. And, granted, while some books such as Salinger's Catcher in the Rye or Twain's Adventures of Huckleberry Finn or Lee's To Kill a Mockingbird weren't written with a teen audience in mind, they certainly grabbed the attention of young people by offering authentic narratives 

And now, because we have an obsession with lists and rankings, Time Magazine has published a list of The Best 100 YA Novels of All Time. And like all lists, it's a bit problematic. 

Obviously, any lists or claims about works being "the best of all time" will always generate disagreement and about what is on or not on the list. Such judgments are always subjective. However, my primary problem with Time's list is that nearly forty of the one hundred works were written in the past five years. That is, quite frankly, ridiculous, and it really casts doubt on the credibility and the agenda of the panelists who made the list, two of whom have their own books on the list. I mean, I'm sorry to counter, but there is simply not enough time to truly gauge these works. Sure, they are timely and significant in the zeitgeist. But to be the best of "all time," you really have to stand the test of time. 

And, let's be clear: any best of list for YA literature that does not include a single work from the Harry Potter series by J.K. Rowling is egregiously remiss. Rowling's story of the young wizard with the lightening scar on his forehead is undoubtedly one of the largest and most significant publishing events in the history of written English. To exclude these works would seem to be not an oversight or simple preference but instead a political statement, and a rather disappointing one at that. And, truly, the work The Outsiders by S.E. Hinton is a YA novel that is almost as timeless and significant as Salinger's story of Holden Caufield or Golding's description of the battle between Ralph and Jack. In fact, many writers and critics believe that Hinton's first novel, published when she was just eighteen, can be considered the book which launched the contemporary age of YA fiction. To exclude this work from a "best of" list is aloof at best.

So, while I am a long time subscriber of Time Magazine, I have to say I am rather disappointed that this story and list ever made it past the editors.

We can all use a little Ted Lasso

I think the world could use a little bit more Ted Lasso.

I'm only three episodes in to the popular AppleTV series about an American football coach who moves to England to coach a professional British futbol team, but Ted Lasso has my heart.

The series, which began as a simple skit with Jason Sudeikis in promo for NBC Sports coverage of the English Premier League, has become the perfect vehicle for some much-needed positive vibes about the better angels of our nature, or in this case just the story of a simple good guy. And I really like Sudeikis in this role because it's a nice transition from his string of SNL and movie characters who are ultimately good guys at heart, but who too often let their ego, their insecurities, and their privilege get in the way of their humanity. This role is part of Jason Sudeikis' very good year.

Ted Lasso. Man—what an unlikely story. The character was initially dreamed up to serve a very different purpose. Sudeikis first played him in 2013, in a promo for NBC, which had recently acquired the television rights to the Premier League and was trying to inspire American interest in English football. The promo was the length and shape of an SNL sketch and featured a straightforward conceit: A hayseed football (our football) coach is hired as the football (their football) coach of a beloved English club, to teach a game he neither knows nor understands in a place he neither knows nor understands. The joke was simple and boiled down to the central fact that Ted Lasso was an amiable buffoon in short shorts.

But Sudeikis tries to listen to the universe, even in unlikely circumstances, and for whatever reason the character stuck around in his head. So, in time, Sudeikis developed and pitched a series with the same setup—Ted, in England, far from his family, a stranger in a strange land learning a strange game—that Apple eventually bought. But when we next saw Ted Lasso, he had changed. He wasn't loud or obnoxious anymore; he was simply…human. He was a man in the midst of a divorce who missed his son in America. The new version of Ted Lasso was still funny, but now in an earned kind of way, where the jokes he told and the jokes made at his expense spoke to the quality of the man. He had become an encourager, someone who thrills to the talents and dreams of others. He was still ignorant at times, but now he was curious too.

The show starts from a somewhat cliched fish-out-of-water premise, but quickly matures into some clever situational humor and an eclectic cast of characters who move the plot while winning our hearts and making us go "awhhhh." Watching the endless optimism of Ted Lasso, an admittedly flawed man, who always assumes best intentions, I am struck by how good Ted can make us feel simply by committing to making the people around him feel good.

A buddy of mine recently Tweeted to me, "I can't think of a better, more impactful, show from the past five years." 

At this point, I gotta say I agree.

My Philosophy of Teaching

As school begins, and we return to our classrooms (some of us for the first time in a while), it's important to consider why and how we do what we do. Here are my thoughts published in my latest column for The Villager.

I was recently asked to articulate my "teaching philosophy," something I have thought about often and had formally crafted years ago. Now, nearly thirty years into my career, I have continuously revised and updated my views, and as summer winds down, and we all prepare to return to the classroom, I thought it was worth writing about.

In my column I’ve shared this story before, but it’s worth repeating because it is the foundation of my beliefs about teaching. When my high school age daughter was very young, one of the first full sentences I recall her saying is “My dad teaches students how to read and how to write.” What I loved most, other than the sing-songy rhythm with which she recited it, was her use of the transitive verb, or more specifically the direct object: My dad teaches children. She didn’t say he teaches English or grammar or any curriculum-related words. She focused on the children. I teach children. I’ve always loved the directness of her description. In being a responsive educator, I don’t teach English or math or science or social studies – I teach students.

The essence of my instruction is an emphasis on cultivating the arts of reading, writing, and thinking. That singular focus on teaching the craft and the beauty of the English language has been my calling from my earliest days teaching language classes in Taiwan to my time in a middle school in Chicago where nearly half of my students spoke Spanish in their homes to my current position teaching AP English at one of the top high schools in the country.

If I aligned my teaching philosophy with two literary works, they would be Lawrence Ferlinghetti’s poem “I Am Waiting” and Kenneth Burke’s passage “The Parlor Metaphor.” Each of these works are featured as introductory lessons in my various classes to set the tone for the year. The key reference in Ferlinghetti’s piece which informs my instruction is his hope for “a renaissance of wonder.” A sense of wonder and inquiry and curiosity is what I hope to evoke and engage in my students with each lesson in every class. From Burke I draw upon his reference to the unending conversation which exists in the relationship between writer, subject, and reader. The work on the page preceded us and will outlive us, but as students, we have a conversation with the text, hoping to glean understanding. Because the works we study can be so vast in scope, I guide my students to become what Henry James called “a person on whom nothing is lost.” Regardless of the subject, context, time period, or purpose, my students will hopefully learn to engage with the works as part of their education.

From the Sage on the Stage to the Guide on the Side, from the classical instructor to the learner facilitator, from direct instruction and rote memorization to child-centered learning and Socratic seminars, the education world has seen numerous models and philosophies in teaching, and over the past thirty years I have learned, practiced, and incorporated most of them in my teaching. Regardless of the lesson and my chosen approach, however, the goal of student engagement and growth remains the key and the non-negotiable factor. In my focus on teaching kids rather than content, my intent is always to be a responsive educator. In that regard, I aim to focus on the specific abilities, needs, and goals of the unique students in the classroom at the time and to be fully present for them. Obviously the content and curriculum also guide my approach to the lessons and the students, but the philosophy of responsiveness and engagement remains the same.

The point of education is to gain knowledge and understanding of content which is not already natural and familiar to the students. Thus, I must understand and respond to my students’ backgrounds, interests, and needs. The one thing I truly love to do is to teach students how to read and how to write. Additionally, one of my greatest gifts is that of editor, a talent I inherited from my mom, a newspaper editor and feature writer. So, whether I am introducing young writers to rhetorical analysis and argumentation or helping upperclassmen craft and develop college application essays, I am happiest and most successful in helping students develop their facility with the craft of language.

The Rockstar Bio-pic

I'm excited to see Respect, the new film biography of the life of Aretha Franklin.

I'm not sure what it is about the musician bio-pics that so fascinates us, but over the past few years we've seen a great run with these dramatic portrayals of iconic musical acts. And every time a new trailer is released, and it uses those familiar songs to jog our memories and spark our interest, I'm all in. The last two that grabbed me were Rocketman, the life and times of Sir Elton John, and Bohemian Rhapsody, the story of Queen and its epic frontman Freddie Mercury. Granted, these films are not documentaries, and viewers should always be aware of how the dramatization will play with the facts and the timelines for effect. The films are, for sure, works of musical art unto themselves. And, perhaps for that reason, some of our singers and musicians want no part of this genre. 

But for those who do consent to the story, there will always be an avid fan base.