reading

Contents

INTRODUCTION

Books and Conversation;

Books as Conversations

IDENTIFYING

Can I get a witness?

Am I a #PhysEd Teacher?

What I Will Fret Over

Woman. Black. Fit. Angry. (In)visible. All of the above.

Alright, fine.

Listening As Resistance

When My “Be Best” Means “Be Black”

Die Sprachbürgerschaft Explained

What Happened When I Went To School With My Hair Out

WRITING

Introduction

Author, Audience and Parts of Speech

Blogging Beyond the Classroom – A Talk

EMOTIONAL INTERLUDE

Emotional Interlude

A Programmable Future

SHARING

Choosing Social Media

The Disconnect Amid So Much Connection

On the Other Side of a Twitter Tizzy

Never The Same Twitter

Speaking Digital PD

Nobody’s Version of Dumb

INTERLUDE

Identity, Education And Power: Square One

THINKING ABOUT EDUCATION

Expanding the Narrative: Observing Eucation

Knee-Jerk vs. A Stone’s Throw

There Is No App for Patience

In Deep Water With Audrey and Tressie

Way To Go

Dodgeball Discussions

Of Leaders, Followers and the Self

What We Should Be Talking About When We Talk About Education

Letting Go Of School In Order

To Think About Education

What If? And What’s Wrong

EVERYTHING ELSE

What Is An Institution

Incuriosity Is A Thing

I Notice

Connecting The Unfortunate Dots

History Calling

WRAPPING UP

A Learning Life Well Lived

Acknowledgments

INTRODUCTION

Books and Conversation; Books as Conversations

I love books probably because my mother loved books and I wanted to be like her even without ever openly admitting it. Our house was stuffed with books and other reading material from the basement to the attic. Although I don’t recall ever describing myself as a bookworm, I know that I enjoyed being read to as a child and later took pleasure in choosing my own books to read. Once at an admissions interview for 9th grade, I remember the adult across from me suggested that I must be quite a reader based on whatever evidence he had in front of him. I was kind of stumped because I didn’t identify that way. In retrospect, I wonder if reading was such a given that I could never see it as anything outstanding or special.

Reading is what we did in our household just like watching TV or listening to music or talking on the phone. Wherever we might sit for longer than a few minutes in the kitchen or living room, something to read—Sunday’s newspaper, Jet and Ebony magazines, a cookbook, a paperback novel—was always within reach. People who visited our house would pick up a paper or book and leaf through it while talking to my mom. When I look at my own home now, I see that my mother’s legacy is very much in effect. One needn’t go far in our apartment to find a book or magazine to read. My own bookshelves are full and line a wall. My younger son’s collection of picture books needs weeding to create space for the next wave of chapter books. My husband’s shelves are beginning to require more creative stacking methods to accommodate his growing collection of non-fiction. Although my oldest has been living on his own for several years, a substantial stash of Japanese manga titles remain in our backroom storage and has recently become a treasure trove for his little brother.

I come from a family of book lovers and aim to further the inheritance. All good.

But what is all this accumulation good for? Why stacks upon stacks of books both read and unread? Not every book added to the collection has been or will be read. There are no guarantees or contracts, nor do I keep any sort of reading log to indicate any book’s consumption status. One of my private joys is looking at a book on a shelf or in a stack and knowing if I’ve read it and if so, how much. Or perhaps I can at least recall how, when and why I acquired it. In this way books become markers of my life in progress; signposts that remind me where I’ve been and what I’ve chosen to think about. Behold the beauty of books: their stasis and solidity! Once published, printed, distributed and purchased (or given away) books lead their own lives in the hands and minds of readers. Many may never make it that far, however. But that should deter none of us from attempting to toss one more (or even many more) tomes onto the pile of written history.

In deciding to write a book, I acknowledge my intention to create a concrete thing that will last. A thing that will collect dust and perhaps be forgotten but I will have made it and left it as a container of words and thoughts I wanted you to hear and remember before I go. In offering you a book, I present you with my personally crafted signpost for your journey; an artifact of time we can spend together.

Among the many books on my shelves, I have a slim little volume by Mexican author, Gabriel Zaid, who speaks directly to the joys and also dilemmas of So Many Books ^{[ 1 ]}:

“The reading of books is growing arithmetically; the writing of books is growing exponentially. If our passion for writing goes unchecked, in the near future there will be more people writing books than reading them.”

That said, Zaid offers us some comfort in acknowledging that it is ultimately our tremendous diversity as readers that will accommodate this tip in the scales between writing and reading. He reminds us:

“Reading liberates the reader and transports him to participate in conversations, and in some cases to arrange them, as so many active readers do: parents, teachers, friends, writers, translators, critics, publishers, booksellers, librarians.

The uniqueness of each reader, reflected in the particular nature of his personal library (his intellectual genome), flourishes in diversity. And the conversation continues, between the excesses of commerce, between the sprawl of chaos and the concentration of the market.” (So Many Books, p. 10-11)

Precisely his use of the term “conversation” captures so well my ambition and desire in compiling this collection of blog posts and articles that I have published over the last 5 or 6 years. Each slice of writing amplifies conversations I want or need to have. Conversations with other writers, educators, learners, students, loved ones; people I admire as well as with people who confound me. Writing has turned out to be my most effective means to process what I read, hear and experience. Every conversation exposes the ongoing volley of ideas within as I try my best to understand and make sense of the world around me. To create a book of previously published online material marks my deliberate attempt to press pause in the daily churn of digital output. Even as I write these words digitally, I periodically dip into Twitter and e-mail. I know that the way I sit with a book (yes, the print version) is different from how I behave in front of a screen. My attention flows differently. I have distractions when I read a book but my custom is to let those distractions rise, fall and pass as opposed to jumping screens to gawk in response to whatever has chimed or popped up in a new tab. One of my regrets with online engagement is how hard it can feel to slow down, stop even, and really spend time with a text and let it work on you for a while. Hot takes on the latest outrage are often so fast and furious (in every sense of the word) that in our rush to keep up, we no longer allow ideas to ripen, mature or perhaps even shift their original shape.

The posts I’ve selected here reflect a true cross-section of my online writing. The book is divided into sections which serve as very broad topic umbrellas: Identifying, Writing, Sharing, Observing Education and Everything Else with a couple of interludes in between. The posts in each section appear, more or less chronologically. That said, there is no requirement to read these posts or sections in the order in which they appear. On the contrary, read what calls to you at any given time. Rather than a sit-down meal of several courses, consider this collection an all-you-can-read buffet for which you have as much time as you can spare.

I invite you to take a meandering walk with me through the words and thoughts of many others—of my students, colleagues, friends and perfect strangers. Let’s consider what we read and how we interpret what we read. Dig in with a teaspoon or a shovel. Whatever you discover and value here is bound to be unique to you. In this way, this book becomes one of yours and no longer entirely mine. It joins your stacks and leaves mine. This is the beauty of the conversation we can continue.

1 Gabriel Zaid, So Many Books: Reading and Publishing in an Age of Abundance. London: Sort of. 2004.

CHAPTER I

Can I get a witness?

On Identity Writing

When I was young, I was itching for a career on the stage. I thought dance or acting would be my domain. I took ballet and loved it. As a tween, I built up a tidy repertoire of comic reproductions of TV ads that my classmates would beg me to repeat over and over again. (My best imitation was of the York Peppermint Patty ad ^{[ 2 ]} which featured a Black woman office worker describing rapture at first bite.) In those moments I felt successful, like I was reaching my audience. Later on, in high school and college, I spent more time on athletic pursuits where I got to shine a little, particularly on the track.

All things considered, I did well. I attended my first choice college and had the opportunity to study abroad which dramatically changed my life’s geographical trajectory. For the most part, I have been able to spend my academic and professional time among people who rarely looked like me but with whom I shared a sense of belonging. I am accustomed to fitting in because it is what I do: I observe, I imitate, I blend in. I learned to fit the bill, even if it changes.

My career on the stage never came to pass. Like certain articles of clothing, I outgrew my childhood dream of fame. Instead, I became a teacher and coach using my flair for the dramatic to grab and hold students’ fleeting attention while convincing the skeptics that the goods I’m selling (i.e., better skills and fitness) are worth their time and effort. Among friends and at home, I take pleasure in being a good listener; reliable, robust and flexible.

Then came blogging and social media, followers and readers, and slowly I had an audience. Numerically modest but important to me, there were and are people who read what I write: a blog post, thread of tweets, a comment. This experience of being public—of sharing my thoughts with whoever finds them—has given me pause on several occasions. My increased use of “I” in the public domain has regularly forced me to confront the many layers of that singular pronoun.

The essays that follow offer varied attempts at unpacking the contents of “I” when writing. While finding words to comprehend and situate my identity I often wrestled with experiences of (in)visibility as a Black woman. I had to ask myself what it means to be seen, by whom, and on what that depends. Identity also covers the ways I present myself in social contexts: the rules I adhere to as well as the ones I snub. Challenging myself to describe the figure who emerges when I look at my interests, achievements and concerns stretched me in new ways. The question: “what is true?” complicated and clarified my process. It seems like every time I think I know who I am, I discover new truths about myself I become a witness to my own unfolding.

My pre-teen comedic self was desperate to capture the rapt attention of my peers, if only for a moment. Perhaps even then I already understood what an accomplishment that was for a skinny Black girl surrounded by mostly white classmates. To confirm that I was more than an apparition, I needed to attract a bevy of witnesses. To assure myself that even if I was not of them, I could count myself somehow among them. Writing my identity beckons more witnesses to the spectacle of this life in progress. I hold up a mirror for myself and find that I am not as alone as I feared.

2 https://www. youtube. com/watch?v=179kmvQZtEM

CHAPTER II

Am I a #PhysEd Teacher?

March 20th, 2014

That’s an identity question. And it would appear to be easily answerable.

Am I or am I not a #PhysEd teacher?

Not surprisingly, my response is a “Yes, and…”

Because if you examine my social media profiles, you might have to dig a little deeper to locate that particular identifier.

On LinkedIn you get: Professional Leadership Coach.

On Twitter you’ll find:

Leadership Coach, Educator, Workshop designer and facilitator, avid reader & writer @ home on the edge of the alps. #100Connections

Facebook: Don’t even bother.

So, clearly I’m not advertising my Physical Education badge. Hmmm…

Rather, I choose to identify as an educator. That’s broad, comprehensive and some might say, vague, too. I’ll agree to all of those.

Yet what brought me to social media were broader interests than what goes on in PE. I came to find insights on education as an industry, as a public and private good, as a right, as a privilege, as a vehicle, as a force. I wanted to think more deeply about learning as a habit, as an opportunity, as a chore, as a moving target. I was looking to challenge my understanding of teaching as a practice, a career, a stepping stone, as an absolute.

And yes, I am a #PhysEd teacher.

When I am in the gym with students, I am at home. I have music playing, I am moving around correcting body positions (“side to target”) or issuing reminders (“What does that mean: ‘to your partner’?”). The day is flush with groups coming and going, with grade level transitions to make your head spin (i.e., from 5th to KG) and I love all that. I’ve been at it for over 20 years and have been blessed to work with an incredible bunch of colleagues who not only know their stuff but keep adding to and improving their “stuff.”

The advantages of being a physical educator are many beyond the surface ones that everyone likes to put out there: comfortable clothing (all day, every day) and no papers to grade. What I prize and what keeps me coming back are the special relationships I can develop with students. Because we’re working with the body which is a very concrete and immediate experience, I encounter each child’s vulnerability and unique strengths in very different ways than a classroom teacher might.

In the course of a school year, I see every child struggle with something. Every one of them has something, some barrier they need to overcome. For some, it may be social — finding and working with partners. For others, there may a particular area of movement that proves challenging or even frightening. My job is to facilitate each child’s struggles towards a positive outcome for that individual within our class group framework. The gym provides fertile soil for cultivating a growth mindset in every child and in this teacher.

Yes, I am a #physicaleducator who believes that all educators need to be ready to learn from their students, their colleagues, parents, and countless other educators who are eager to share and dialogue. I am out to learn for more than myself and to do that effectively, I cannot and will not simply “stay in my lane.” On the contrary, I travel off-road cross country and consider myself an all-terrain learner. And in the process, I am making tracks, leaving impressions, having an impact.

No sleeping on this job.

Yes, I am a #physical educator and all of my work is about moving: moving minds, moving hearts, moving bodies.

CHAPTER III

What I Will Fret Over

April 25, 2014

I spend quite a bit of time thinking about education. I also think, write and talk a lot about school, schools and schooling. I am a teacher. I am an educator. I am a coach. I am a parent. Not so long ago an idea reached me that offered surprising clarity: On my deathbed I will not be wishing I had fret more over my children’s education.

On my deathbed I will not be wishing I had fret more over my children’s education.

Rather, when that day arrives I may fret about their futures. About whether they know how much I love them. I will hope that they know how rich they have made my life. I will hope that they understand themselves to be capable and extraordinary human beings. I will pray that they have learned to trust others, how to reach out for help, how to care for and love others especially when loving is hard to do. I will fret that we have not had enough time to say all the things that we wanted to say to each other. I will fret over whether their passion for life and learning will be enough to see them through, in and on whatever paths they pursue. It is extremely unlikely that I will fret over how they did or are doing in school.

I have two sons: the firstborn is of age and can decide what kind of learning he would like to pursue and if that involves more formal schooling and a second who is at the beginning of his grade school career. So the question arises: If I know that I will not wish I had fret more over their school experience when my life is at its end, what does that mean for now?

It means that my eyes must be on the larger prize, even as my children go through school and further their education, year after year. It means that my most urgent purpose is to nurture the relationships which will sustain them for life. And that means not only their relationships to people. I must carefully attend to their relationships to learning as a joy, an avenue, a journey and a foundation. I need to actively cultivate their relationships to the world of ideas, to the literacy and curiosity that this demands, to the arts in myriad forms, to the vast diversity of this earth we inhabit. I need to foster and champion their relationships to their unique strengths, interests and passions — providing them with evidence and experience that says, “this counts and is important to who you are and wish to be.”

And knowing full well that I will likely fall short of these lofty goals in small and larger ways, it becomes all the more crucial that I persist in reading to them night after night, day after day. That I continue to listen to their stories of adventure, danger, humor and drama drawn from the screen, the playground, the last good book or video game. That I watch them play outdoors, indoors, with friends, alone, on a PC, on a tablet. That we talk about what was scary or sad or disappointing or awesome. That I pay attention to their wishes as well as to their disdain. That I learn from them and allow them to instruct me. One goes to school and the other may be done with school; Homework is something they both know can be done, forgotten or ignored. What happened at school is sometimes newsworthy, other times less so. Our connections to each other are what matter now and throughout our journey. That is where my energy flows first and foremost.

When I extend this thinking from my sons to include my students and athletes, I arrive at similar conclusions. Whether or not they recall how to stand at bat or how to pass a soccer ball is not the ultimate point of my instruction. Rather, in how many ways can they learn to appreciate their unique bodies and capabilities? What are the things they look forward to doing with their bodies and minds in school, after school, in life? If they have cause to remember me at all as their teacher, let it be as someone who enjoyed sharing her enthusiasm for movement and people and community. Let them remember when and how they felt proud of themselves in Physical Education or on the track. Let them remember that movement was fun and challenging and something they kept doing ever after because they chose to do it. The relationships that we build, teacher-student, student-student, as well as the connection of students and teacher to the subject matter — can be such powerful sources of change, growth, and genuine education.

When it is time for us to leave this life behind, today’s piling on of curricular rigor will not save us or our children. What will make a positive difference, the positive difference, are the deliberately individual loving and caring relationships we build not only among the human parties involved but with the world as a limitless learning environment. Shaping, cultivating, harvesting and preserving the multiple learning landscapes we inhabit — this is the opportunity we share as teachers, as parents, as students, as learners and survivors to make our time together on this earth meaningful and worthy.