Somatic Education 301.
I rarely liked gym class as a child or adolescent. I remember dodge ball games, where I was supposed to try not to get hit with the ball. If (when) I did get hit, I usually got knocked over. I remember the trampoline,
where I was supposed to rely on my sense of balance and my sense of adventure. As far as that kind of activity, I didn't have much of either. We played team sports, and sometimes that was a little more fun, but we knew we were being graded on how good we were, and I didn't have
a clue about how to get good at football, basketball, and all that. (I was okay at baseball. I think that was because my neighborhood was more of a baseball neighborhood.)
Al Capasso, on the other hand, was great at gym, and loved it. He was usually in my gym class - the only class I shared with him. When the gym teacher introduced new skills, he used Al Capasso to demonstrate. Al made it look easy - easy for him. The muscles on his arms bulged and rippled as he did pull-ups or climbed ropes, and the rest of us, to varying degrees, felt inadequate. Al smiled as he did what seemed impossible to us. But I'll bet he couldn't spell worth beans.
There were moments of glory for me. When we did cross country, everyone was supposed to run three miles - up to a dirt road, down the road to a path, and eventually back to the track, where we were supposed to finish with a lap. I was always one of the first ones done. So was Al,
but it clearly wasn't his forte. He was embarrassed to have people like me finish soon after he did.
Not much of what happened in gym class counts as what I consider education. "Physical fitness" was stressed, but we were taught that the way to get "physically fit" was to exercise. That's all. As far as I'm concerned, we didn't need a teacher for that. In fact, we usually referred to the "teacher" as "coach." And if we didn't go out for any sports after school, "coach" shouldn't have been such an appropriate title.
I know I'm not the only one with bad memories of physical education. I've talked with many friends who went through what I went through. But I wonder whether there's a better way to approach it. Caleb Gattegno, one of my mentors, used to talk about "somatic education." He described it as a way to help children get to know their own bodies. I've seen teachers who do that well. Their classes include football, yoga, dance, mime, basketball, cooperative games - anything that might help children get comfortable with their bodies. In my senior year in high school, I came down with mononucleosis. I couldn't participate in physical education classes for the rest of the year. I got my choice of several electives to take instead. Mostly for that reason, it was the best year I had in high school. But I'm convinced that a good somatic education program would have helped me, with or without mononucleosis. And it would help everyone else, too. Everybody has a body. That's why we're called "everybody.
The Honor Society 302.
There was one special day each year when some students in my high school were inducted into the National Honor Society. Parents of those who were going to be inducted were notified in advance, so that they could plan to attend the induction ceremony. But they weren't supposed to tell us they'd been notified. So I studied my parents' faces for the week before the ceremony. My mother insisted that she hadn't received anything, but she was supposed to insist that.
The day of reckoning came. Would my various grades, when averaged together, qualify me for consideration? What about teachers who didn't like me? Of course, they all claimed to like us all equally, but nobody was fooled by that. And what about gym? National Honor Society members were supposed to be well-rounded, and I'd never gone out for any sports. In fact, physical education was my worst subject. But maybe my involvement in music and drama would make up for that.
I told myself it didn't really matter if I didn't get in. True, most of my friends were probably going to get in, but some of them wouldn't. If I wasn't inducted, my true friends would still be my friends; only the superficial ones would snub me. But what if I didn't have as many true friends as I'd thought? Oh, come on! Membership in that society plus twenty-five cents would get me on to the subway in New York City (at that time, the subway fare was twenty-five cents for everyone). But I really wanted to see my parents sitting in the back of the auditorium, smiling proudly.
Getting into that club shouldn't have meant so much to me. There was already enough to worry about - getting the parts I wanted in plays, being a National Merit Scholar, getting into the college I wanted, and so on. I really didn't need this. Neither did my friends, who kept checking the back of the room to see whether their parents were there. We should have already known we were worthwhile, intelligent people. We should have learned that way before high school. But we kept checking the back of the auditorium.
Since that day, I've gone to college - the one I wanted to go to. I've gotten my master's degree, and several credits beyond it. I've gotten a straight A average in graduate school. I've written songs that have been sung by famous people, and articles that get read by lots of people. Some of them tell me I'm intelligent and wise. Nobody has asked me, during the past twenty years, whether I was ever inducted into the National Honor Society. I don't think they consider it very important.
I thought about ending this article the way Frank Stockton ended "The Lady or the Tiger," leaving you wondering whether I got in. That would be a cute literary device. But I won't do it. It wouldn't be nice. I didn't get in.

Field Trips 303.
A field trip is supposed to be a way to enhance curriculum. It can also be a way to give children and teachers a break from routine. And it can do both, and often does. Children benefit by learning from direct experiences, and schools have to rely heavily on vicarious experiences; they can't really bring the world into the classroom.
Unfortunately, many field trips only add to children's store of vicarious experiences. Children, teachers, and volunteer parents get on buses and are taken to a place designed for field trips. There are lectures, photo displays, charts, and maybe some hands-on experiences. There are lots of other children from other schools. Some are running around, making lots of noise. Some are waiting on line, hoping to get a chance to put their hands on the hands-on activities.
Some of the children have been to this place many times, with their parents and with other teachers. They've been there, done that. There may be some advantages to taking children to places that were designed for field trips: maybe they're safer, more age-appropriate, more convenient. But they don't necessarily offer something children haven't already gotten. And adults who accompany children to these places often hear complaints about this fact.
Occasionally, I've planned or witnessed another kind of field trip. Children studying a nearby city actually go to the city and see what it's like there. They don't go to the Children's Museum or the Museum of Natural History. Instead, they go to neighborhoods that are different from their own, and they see that there really are such neighborhoods. Or they go to some place where nature has been allowed to do its thing, and they see trees that are not labelled. I understand the fears many adults have about such field trips. There are reasons they choose to take children on the tried-and-true field trips. Some of adults' fears may be irrational, perhaps based on bigotry or other forms of ignorance. They worry that their children will be exposed to urban unrest, and be psychologically or physically harmed, or drown in the ocean, or be eaten by bears. I certainly didn't want any of that to happen to my children, or the children I taught.
I don't have an easy answer to this problem. The kind of field trip I have in mind would be an attempt to start to solve major societal problems that spring from ignorance of the natural world and the urban world. On the one hand, suburban parents want to make sure their children are safe. On the other hand, childhood is a good time to learn what life on earth is about, and there isn't some Museum of Life on Earth that will teach them that.

Busywork 304.
If teachers and everyone else involved in planning children's education were perfect, every moment each child spent in school would result in the best learning imaginable. Maybe there would still be some worksheets, but they would be so much better than some of the worksheets you and I have come in contact with. A lot of the worksheets we've seen can only be described in language I've avoided using in these articles. I don't think a perfect teacher would give children any word hunts to do. They can be fun for some children, but they don't do much to increase children's knowledge or skill.
But nobody's perfect. Some of the work teachers give children has very little substance to it. Its only purpose is to fill up some time. Sometimes the teacher is working with some children, and hasn't organized things so that other children are ready to be productive while they wait for their turn. Or some other planning problem has left a gap that has to be filled. The teacher can tell children to take out books and read, but that only works sometimes. At other times, busywork fills in the gaps.
As a teacher, I felt guilty any time I gave a child busywork to do. Even if it was busywork the child enjoyed. Children, like adults, can get plenty of enjoyment doing things that don't do them a bit of good. But no matter how hard I tried to plan every minute of the day, I always had gaps, and busywork was the easiest way to fill them in. I knew teachers who didn't seem to need busywork, and I admired them, but I knew many more who, like me, had places where they kept emergency supplies of word hunts, crossword puzzles, math fact drills, and other papers that may have been a little educational occasionally, but were mostly there to keep children occupied.
When we were children, most of us spent a lot of time doing busywork. Teachers sometimes actually developed rationales for it: word hunts help children develop their figure/ground perception and their spelling skill. And of course, children have to know their math facts, and drill is the only way to learn them. Many parents accept these rationales. In fact, some even complain if their children don't seem to be getting enough busywork.
But I don't believe that it's a good way for children to spend time. I forgive myself and other teachers who have used and still use busywork from time to time to make it through the day, just as I forgive myself and other parents who sometimes use the television as a babysitter. And people disagree about which work really counts as busywork. But let's try to avoid kidding ourselves about it, and let's try not too rely on it too much.

A Teachable Moment 305.
Teachable moments don't always happen according to the schedules in teachers' lesson plans. Learning is going on all the time, and good teachers have been known to teach great lessons that were never planned. They listen to children, and respond to what they hear by saying or doing things that guide children toward important concepts. And sometimes whatever is written in lesson plans, no matter how well-conceived, will just have to wait.
One of the many luxuries of being retired and volunteering in a school is that I don't have to write lesson plans any more. That means I can spend more time and energy noticing and responding to teachable moments. Since I'm not in charge of the class, I don't have to make sure child A, B, and C are doing important, constructive things while I respond to child D's teachable moment.
But I'm also free to notice how classroom teachers respond to those moments, and then later, write about them. And I recently witnessed a great one. It happened during recess. Two children were talking about war, and one of them said to the other, "You guys bombed us at Pearl Harbor, but then we dropped an atom bomb on you." The other child disagreed, and soon the two of them approached the teacher. The teacher was asked to settle the dispute by providing facts.
As you may have guessed, one of the children had recent ancestors who were Japanese, and the other didn't. In this country, at this point in our history, we have African-Americans, Latin Americans, Native Americans, Asian-Americans, and so on. We are a nation of "you guys." I love the line in "Finian's Rainbow" that goes, "My family has been havin' trouble with immigrants ever since we came to this country!"
I saw the look on the teacher's face. She glanced toward me as if to say, "Teachable moment!" It was recess, and the clock was about to end recess, but this teacher, at this moment, was not going to be ruled by any clock. She talked with the two children about the term "you guys" as it was being used in this conversation. By the way, the child who didn't appear to have Japanese ancestors had a last name that seemed to indicate that some of his ancestors were also involved in some significant events in World War II. But last names, facial features, and all that are not reliable clues to ancestry, and ancestry is neither destiny nor responsibility. Neither child had ever bombed the other.
The teacher did provide the requested facts about Pearl Harbor and Hiroshima, but not until she'd made it clear how she felt about the sadness of war, and the inappropriateness of the phrase "you guys" in this discussion. And the two children, who had already been friends, had something important to think about.

When the Cat's Away 306.
A teacher named Jill or Jim is headed back to her/his second grade classroom after having gone to the office to take a phone call. He/she has spoken with his/her class about what should happen when no adult is in the room, and most of the children know what's supposed to happen. Even most of those who are chasing each other around the room know. And the teacher knows they know.
When the teacher is about fifty feet from the classroom, he/she sees a child's head quickly move a little bit past the doorway and then move back into the room. The teacher hears, "She's/he's coming!" There are some whispers and some scurrying sounds. And these children are not about to throw a surprise party for the teacher. They have been taking advantage of the teacher's absence to do what they'd rather do than what the teacher had told them to do.
One child, who doesn't like chaos, has been spending the past three minutes trying to get the rambunctious ones to stop it, forgetting that trying to control other children's behavior was not part of the teacher's instructions, either. Everyone was supposed to be sitting down and quietly doing some assignment.
When the teacher gets to the room, of course everyone is sitting quietly and working (or at least appearing to be working). The teacher may or may not scold the class for the misbehavior that had been going on. Not everyone in the class had been involved, and some children take group scolding so personally: "I wasn't doing anything! I was just sitting here doing my work!" And that may be true of some children.
Teachers aren't supposed to leave classes unattended. There's always supposed to be an adult in the room to keep things safe, orderly, and productive. But that doesn't always happen. Teachers have legitimate reasons to leave the classroom when no adult is available to take over. If a child is ever badly hurt when no adult is nearby, there may be a legal battle that results in all kinds of unpleasantness. But the odds against that happening are pretty strong, there often aren't enough adults to go around, and there really is an occasional legitimate reason for a teacher to leave a class unattended.
All I've done in this article is describe a problem. I don't know what can be done about it. We could fund schools so that there are always two adults per classroom, but I'm pretty sure that won't happen right away. Sometimes a teacher asks a colleague to "keep an eye on" her/his class, but that isn't an ideal system; teachers have enough work to do with their own classes. Some teachers have ways to keep everything going smoothly even when they're out of the room. As a teacher, I tried to use these teachers as models, but I never learned how to do whatever they were doing right. Most teachers I know haven't, either.

Looking Up to a Sibling 307.
I've already written about sibling rivalry, but I was recently reminded of another aspect of some sibling relationships. Parents and teachers serve as models for children, but so can older siblings. A younger sibling - even one who complains all the time about an older sibling - may also see that sibling as a model. Even if the older one has no interest in being anyone's model - even if she/he has no awareness of the role. As an adult, I became aware of the ways my brothers had been models for me, and the ways I had been a model for my younger sister.
Trying to be like your older sibling can seem much more realistic than trying to be like your parents. If you're seven years old, it's easier to believe that you'll be in fourth grade some day - maybe be in "major league" little league or the school orchestra like your older sibling - than to believe that you'll be an adult - maybe a parent - and do some of the seemingly impossible things adults do.
Being someone's model is an awesome responsibility even for an adult, so imagine how hard it must be for a child. Children are trying to figure out their own lives, and are usually much further from that goal than adults are. So it's hard to think about setting a good example for a younger sibling. Instead of teaching newly learned skills to a little brother or sister, there can be a temptation to keep those skills as proof of superiority. After all, thinks big brother or sister, there's got to be someone I can be better than. And who better than that kid who's always bugging me anyway?
But the role of model can also be a blessing for both siblings. There were times when I was sure my brothers were proud of me, and it made me so proud of myself. And I'm sure that the joy I got from teaching my younger sister was one of my main reasons for becoming a teacher. I think it helped to be separated by several years; if a child tries to be as good as or better than a sibling who is seven years older, the risk of success is not too great. The older child has had a running head start.
As adults, we sometimes worry about the little models we see. We worry that younger children will learn bad habits from older children. And probably, some of them will learn some. I don't know how much good it does to remind older children that they should set good examples. That may help, but it may also build resentment. It may be that it's hard enough for a child to be "good" for his/her own reasons - that trying to set a good example for someone else is too much.
But it can also feel good, as a child is trying to live up to the example set by the important adults in his/her life, to notice that someone is trying to live up to his/her example.

The Adventure of Emily and the Robin 308.
Until recently, I thought there would come a point when I'd cured myself of all my bad habits and eliminated all of my counterproductive thought patterns. Then I'd be perfect, and write articles telling the rest of you how to be perfect, too. But at best, I've only got about fifty years left. I don't think I'll make it. In fact, I'm still not sure which habits and thought patterns I ought to get rid of.
Recently, I spent some time with Emily, an eight year old child who was concerned about a robin on a bush outside my apartment. The robin couldn't fly, and was easy prey for any of the many cats that live near me. I know my own reaction to the situation: the robin was probably going to die, and there wasn't anything we humans could do about it. I thought the best thing we could do would be to leave the robin alone - let nature take its course. Maybe there would be a miracle, and the robin would somehow recover its ability to fly, and go on to live a happy and productive life. Or maybe a cat would end up having some fun (fun that, from many humans' perspectives, would appear sadistic and gruesome).
It wasn't a big issue for me; I worry more about humans whose lives are in danger. I'd sacrifice several robins to save one human. I think Emily would, too, but there weren't any humans facing death right outside my apartment, and there was an injured robin. From Emily's perspective, this was not at all an issue to be taken lightly. I don't know to what degree she was secretly enjoying the drama; maybe she'd find a way to save the
poor bird, despite the seeming indifference of adults, and her story would be written up in the paper, with a photo of Emily and her avian friend.
In a way, I really don't mean to make light of the situation. Here was a child caring about a helpless bird. That kind of caring is one of the many things I love about children. I helped Emily try to contact the Audubon Society, some animal shelters, some veterinarians. She had very little success; she reached mostly answering machines. It was a Friday evening. We spent the better part of an hour trying to find a way to save the bird. The only live human voice Emily reached was that of a woman who told her to leave the bird alone - that there was nothing she could do. That's what I'd suggested, but she was more ready to believe an official-sounding voice on the phone than mine.
During all of this commotion, I was trying to be the perfect adult, listening to Emily's concern, taking her seriously, providing some useful perspective, guiding her toward a wise course of action. It helped that I didn't have any of my own urgent business to attend to; most of you other adults do. But even with the freedom to devote all of my thinking to the Adventure of Emily and the Robin, I still didn't know whether to try getting her to be less concerned (creatures die; that's life), get more involved in the drama, or what. I hope she knows I care about what she was going through. And I hope I was right about whatever role I played in the drama.
Consistent or Flexible? 309. It's common wisdom that you've got to be consistent with children about your rules and limits - that if you give children an inch, they'll take a mile. And there's plenty of anecdotal data to back up that wisdom. Like most adults I know, I've occasionally had to enforce rules I really didn't want to enforce. The worst example I can think of happened when I was a beginning teacher. The whole class felt out of control, and I shouted, "The next person who talks will stay in from recess!"
The next person who talked was a child who had hardly ever said a word. There she was, finally saying something. It ought to have been a time for me to celebrate. I don't remember exactly what she said, but I remember that it was something worth saying. But all the other children were watching me to see whether I was as good as my word, and I did what I felt I had to do - kept her in from recess.
That wouldn't have happened later in my career. First of all, I wouldn't have made such a dumb ultimatum (dumb, considering my personal style). And if I had made it, I would have explained to the whole class that I'd made a mistake because I really wanted the class to quiet down. Some children would have felt that I was being unfair - playing favorites. But sticking to my unwise ultimatum would have been unwise, and I'd undo any damage done to my image as a fair authority figure later.
I don't think this is solely a function of experience; I know veteran teachers who stick to whatever rules and limits they set up, no matter who the transgressors are. They firmly believe that they need to be totally consistent, or they'll open up a floodgate, and all Hell will break loose. That way of thinking works for them, and it doesn't take long for children to learn the limits.
I never thought I'd say this, but I think it may be all right to be that strict. It's harder sometimes, because not every child who steps outside the limits is doing so on purpose, and sometimes great things may happen outside the limits. A child may say something profound and important at a time when no one's supposed to be talking. But when a teacher is consistent about rules, there's an understandable context, and whatever consequences result from transgressions are more likely to be seen in perspective.
It's not my way, though. I like to consider each case on its own merit, and each child as an individual. I've sometimes been accused of being soft - being a push-over. But I think my way works; I think children respect my flexibility, and still know about my limits. I think there's room for both approaches, and all the approaches in between.

Integration 310.
In 1974, I attended a rally in support of the integration of the Boston Public Schools. The featured speakers were Jonathan Kozol, James Meredith, and Benjamin Spock. I felt as if I was on the right (correct) side of the issue, and that only narrow-minded bigots were on the other side. I thought that integrating the public schools was the only way to make them fair - that funding and talent was being hoarded by whites, and the unfair status quo was being perpetuated.
Elsewhere in Boston, there were rallies in support of the "neighborhood school" concept. People who were vehemently opposed to court-ordered busing carried signs and picketed. Some of them even had beards and wore love beads, looking very much like the people I'd wanted to picket with only a few years earlier (I'd been more afraid of tear gas, etc. than my peers, so I hadn't actually joined them, but my spirit had been with them). Something in me wanted to tell them they had no right to look that way if they were going to oppose integration.
When I was a child, I went to schools that were near where I lived. They were somewhat integrated; there were sections of my town where non-whites lived, and there weren't separate schools for those neighborhoods. Children who weren't white tended to spend recess and lunch with other children who weren't white, either. Some were black, some Hispanic, some Asian. Almost everyone rode buses to school; the school was next to a potato farm, not a neighborhood. But no one had to ride very far.
When I taught in Wellesley, there was a program called METCO, by which children were bused from Boston to various suburban schools, including those in Wellesley. It was a voluntary program, and it made it so that some classes in Wellesley (which was mostly white) had a few children who weren't white. It also made it so that many children spent an inordinate amount of their time on buses. I don't know how the situation was explained to each child, but some children and parents seemed to feel more positive about METCO than others. I think METCO did a lot of good: there were children who got to spend better time in school than they might have in Boston, and children in Wellesley got at least some exposure to racial diversity. But I digress. This was limited, voluntary integration. When I started writing this article, I intended to write about compulsory integration.
What was going on in 1974 was different from what is going on now. I still believe that integration is important. I don't like it when it feels as if one race is getting an unfair advantage - as if skin color is a barrier to equal justice, and/or to friendship. But I'm more ready to listen to arguments against compulsory integration, mainly because many of the people I thought it would help most are now opposed to it.

Childlessness 311.
Many folk tales and other stories begin by telling about a couple or individual who has no children and dearly wishes for a child. And then some miracle or other happens, and a child appears. It could be the regular miracle - a woman becomes pregnant and gives birth to a baby. Or it could be something a little more out of the ordinary - perhaps a fairy comes and
turns a wooden puppet into a real child.
No matter what kinds of difficulty you may be having with a child or children of yours, please believe me when I tell you that there are still plenty of people around who dearly wish for children. There are couples dealing with infertility, people who waited to have children and found that they may have waited too long, people who once hoped to have partners and have gradually lost that hope, but still hope to have children. For one reason or another, not everyone who wants children has them.
Childlessness was not one of the sad realities (sad, for me) of life I was willing to cope with. I've always wanted to own a house, but if that never happens, I'll still be okay. I used to dream of travelling, getting married and living happily ever after, and lots of other things that many people dream about. And some of those dreams have lost some of their grandeur not coming true.
But I don't think I could have coped well with childlessness. I know there are people who haven't ever had children and don't ever want to. I've spoken with some of them enough to know that they mean it; they know what they want out of life, and there's no room in their plans for children. For their sake, and for the sake of their non-existent children, I hope they remain childless.
On the other hand, there really are many people who want to have children. It's a very natural thing for human beings and other animals to want. It hasn't been long since surviving and reproducing were all we were supposed to do, and although I try to be open-minded about the idea of not ever wanting children (some of my friends say they don't ever want children, but my best friends have or hope to have them), I can't really identify with that mindset.
I wish there were a way to straighten out the situation - to bestow children upon the ones who want them, and make sure those who don't want them don't have them. Maybe a magical fairy who would go around finding the children who are born unwanted, or who don't have parents, and skillfully matching them up with people who would make great parents but for lack of children.

Young Mathematicians 312.
As a volunteer, I adopted about eighty first graders and decided to stay with them as long as possible - maybe even until they graduated from high school. When they were in second grade, I spent three hours per week in Paul Oh's second grade, helping him teach math. I've already written a little about his calm, thoughtful approach, but there's more to say. Like many teachers, he struggles with a variety of attitudes about mathematics - perhaps his own (after all, he went to school, and probably didn't always have perfect math teachers), but certainly the attitudes the children brought with them. These attitudes had come from parents, siblings, teachers, media.
I have some good news and some bad news. First, the bad news. Paul's struggle was not easy, and even though I, as an observer, could see the growth that was going on in Paul's class, I don't know how easy it was for him to see it. I had worked with many of these children when they were in first grade. Now I was able to sit comfortably away from the struggle, away from conferences with parents who perhaps expected more miracles than Paul delivered, outside the system which may have had lots of pieces of paper indicating what children were supposed to know, and when they were supposed to know it. So I had an easy time of it. But I doubt whether Paul did.
Now for the good news. What Paul did with these children helped them become mathematicians. Some of these children had come to him believing that they weren't good at math, and never could be. Others had believed that math was theirs; it was what separated them from the mediocrity of the masses. They could solve math problems, and that's what proved that they were worthwhile people. There had been children in between, but they had probably wondered whether they were geniuses or total failures.
But by the end of second grade, all of these children were mathematicians. That doesn't mean they'd all go to MIT and spend their lives thinking mathematical thoughts, but neither would they see math as something that belonged to an elite. When Paul gave them a problem to solve, they thought more about the problem, and less about their own competence or lack thereof. If the problem was hard, they thought harder. If it started to seem too hard, they asked for help, but not with the kind of desperation that can sometimes be heard when children have trouble with math. In Paul's class, they'd tasted success. It had tasted good, and they wanted more. There's a lot to be said about the educational value of wanting to be able to do something and believing it can be done.

Denial 313.
Denial may not always be as bad as it's often made out to be. I was talking with a friend who is suffering/recovering from the effects of throat cancer and related medical procedures. He referred to himself and me as "experts at denial." I plead guilty as charged, but I'd like to reclassify at least some of my "denial" as "optimism." For some reason, optimists are more often accused of denial than pessimists. But from my point of view, people who only see evidence of ugliness and impending disaster are just as guilty of denial.
Let's not let psychology have a monopoly on the word. I know we're supposed to learn to face harsh realities. I know denial is a stage of mourning, and it doesn't undo the sad realities that are denied. So I'm all for learning to accept unpleasantness that must be accepted. Personally, I think I'm making progress toward that goal.
But that's not all there is to it. I've found it interesting how people have gradually come to respond differently to my usually positive attitude. When I used to walk or run around, play piano, and have a larger income, my optimism seemed, to some people, shallow and naive. As soon as I'd done some substantial living, they seemed to think, I'd learn to think more darkly.
Now, more people seem to react to that same positive spirit as if I'm heroic and wise: if I can smile and feel hope while antibodies are nibbling at my myelin, I must really know something they don't know. But I really think it has to do with perspective, not awareness; half of the glass really is full, and the other half really is empty.
I don't think denial is as common among children as among adults, but adults who have children often have to deal with some harsh realities, and
sometimes they go to great lengths not to. They view learning problems and behavior problems as teaching or administrative problems. Of course, schools and teachers are factors, and can cause or aggravate problems, but so can parents, and so can plain old reality.
And it's not that simple; sometimes a very appropriate and effective way to handle a problem is to treat it as if it's not a problem. That can be true because some problems are mainly problems of attitude. Sometimes a child just needs to be treated as if he/she is capable, and whatever problems seemed to exist just fade away.
All this means is that sometimes you've got to see things one way, and sometimes you've got to see them another way. It would be nice if we could come up with one reliable perspective, but sometimes we can't. Some attempts to simplify issues are born of denial.

As the School Year Ends 314.
As June gets into people's systems, things can start to change in a school. There are social dynamics going on, as well as individuals' reactions to the approaching end of the school year. When people are caught up in it all, they can forget about some parts of it, and get obsessed with others. I'll try to describe some of what goes on, and you can pick out whatever applies to the particular Junes you seem to experience.
First of all, there's the excitement many people feel about the vacation that's going to happen soon. For some teachers, summer can mean sleeping late, having hour-long lunch hours, not going to meetings, not writing lesson plans, not having conferences - being free from all the stressful things teachers must do from September to June. And maybe some teachers are going to do exciting things during the summer. So may some children and parents. If that were all that people were thinking about, June would just be a joyful month.
But there's much more. The school year provides structure, and though that structure can be oppressive, there's usually some anxiety about what life will be like without it. School is something to do, both for children and teachers, and it makes parenting a little less of a full-time job. And so people may wonder, even as they consciously look forward to the break, what now? For some people, summer has to be carefully scheduled; weekdays are full of camp, lessons, and all kinds of other activities, and weekends still end up being weekends.
During the school year, there have been connections between children and teachers. In June, children are often beginning to realize that the connections won't be much of a force any more. The more conspicuous behavior that results from this realization is some difficulty with control: why listen to a lame duck teacher? But there's also some sadness about the impending loss; the teacher has been someone to rely on - for some children the only one to rely on - and what will happen when that teacher isn't there any more? Even some of the misbehavior teachers deal with in June can be due, in part, to that sadness.
Teachers get attached to children, children to teachers, and children to each other. June is often a time to say good-bye. There are often tears - usually among children, but we teachers have been known to cry once in a while when we've ended a school year.
The physical environment of the classroom starts to change: teachers are more apt to take down old displays without replacing them. Materials are collected more, distributed less. Most teachers are too tired to open up new units, and they don't want to end up with more stuff to put away, so the curriculum starts to look more like review and busywork.
All of this varies from teacher to teacher and child to child. Sadness, anger, relief, and joy fill the school. And then a bell rings, and the next part of life begins.
Class Placement 315.
Teachers and administrators usually have a balancing act to do as the school year comes to an end - to place children in the classes they'll be in come September. There are many factors that go into the process. Parents' and children's happiness is one of the factors, but there are usually people who are not happy with the way things turn out. There are children who want to be together, children who don't, and children who want to be with children who don't want to be with them. There are children who seem to be good for each other and children who don't. Many combinations of children have their pros, cons, ups, and downs. Even if the wants and needs of children were the only considerations, class placement would be complicated.
But parents' wants and needs are important, too. Parents can have strong opinions about whether certain children should be together, and which teachers are the best ones. And of course, parents tend to want the best for their children. And so some parents lobby to make sure their children end up with friends, or with teachers who teach well. There are parents who stay out of it, and leave the decisions up to the school. They have faith that school personnel will make wise decisions.
School personnel, too, have opinions about which child/child, teacher/child, and teacher/parent combinations will work well. But they must also focus on other factors: how many children with academic, behavioral, social, and/or emotional strengths and weaknesses are in each class. Ideally, classes are somewhat balanced. Too much consideration to what parents and children want can result in unbalanced classes that are quite difficult to teach.
I began this paragraph by trying to tell you that class placement decisions don't amount to a hill of beans - that life goes on, and we cope with changes and disappointments. But I deleted that line of thinking. I was going to ask you whether any class placement ever had much of an effect on you as you were growing up. It was going to be a rhetorical question that implied that the whole issue isn't so important. But then I started thinking about the teachers and classmates who were part of my childhood. I thought about ways my life would have been different if I hadn't had Mrs. Remavich for fifth grade, or if Pam Pedersen hadn't been in my class in sixth grade.
Class placement makes a difference. It's important to make sure classes are balanced, and the people who teach your children are usually in better positions to figure out how to find that balance, but I think the wants and needs of children and parents ought to be respected.

Portrait of a Family 316.
Once in a while, I get really impressed by a family. I know, on some level, that every family has its ups and downs, but sometimes all I can see are the ups. I recently went to a child's birthday party at the home of a family that impressed me. Having been to many children's birthday parties, and having seen things that have bothered me, I was ready to have to politely ignore some of what I saw, and do my best to focus on the positive.
But I didn't see anything I had to ignore. It was immediately clear to me that both the mother and father were involved with the children, and loved them. Both had thought about the party, and had planned it in a way that it was fun for the birthday boy, his little sister, his friends, her friends, and the adults who came. There were activities that included all the children, and there was lots of cooperation, and as far as I could see, little competition.
This was a family who lived in a home that reflected their commitment to their children. Both parents had parts of their lives that didn't involve their children, but it seemed as if they'd thought about how to live those parts of their lives without neglecting the children at all. Both children clearly felt loved - felt as if they were important to their parents.
The house itself gave me the impression that this family was not struggling to make ends meet, but unlike other families who are doing okay financially, their home was not full of things the children shouldn't touch. Both the physical layout and the way these parents related with their children made me wish this family could somehow be displayed as a model for others.
I know there must be details I haven't noticed. Perhaps each member of this family has a habit or two that really bugs another member. And I don't know what the family had to go through to get to the seemingly sublime point I saw. Besides, I know I'm sometimes quick to let people turn into heroes.
But please allow me this model family. If I've partly fictionalized them, let's let it be. But at least part of what I saw was really there. There was no television. The birthday boy was made to feel special without his non-birthday sister being made to feel superfluous. The children who came to help celebrate the birthday had fun, and did not seem to notice that video games were absent and junk food was at a minimum.
So those of you who feel, as I once did, that the pressure to be like everyone else and give in to popular culture is too great, please know that there is another way. It takes real commitment, but it can be done. I saw it.

Reflections 317.
There's an issue you've probably had to deal with, or you probably will.
What if your child makes you look bad? What if people in your community, some of whom have come to like and respect you, see your child looking, sounding, or behaving in ways that don't represent your view of how people should look, sound, and behave? Some of them may know that your child is not you, and doesn't necessarily reflect your views consistently, but some may not seem to fully understand that. They may judge you.
Or what if your parents embarrass you? They could treat you as if you're ten when you're actually twelve, and if the timing is bad, all your twelve year old friends could be right there, watching. Soon, you'll find out who your real friends are - which ones will rub it in and which will be sympathetic. Most of them have parents, too, so they really should know all about what you're going through, but that doesn't guarantee that they'll be nice about it.
We all have the right to have our own identities - to behave in ways that are in keeping with who we are and how we think. And we have the right to choose to go along with the crowd sometimes, just to fit in. But I think we also have the responsibility to consider what effect our behavior has on people we care about. Sometimes, our children's or parents' embarrassment about us is their own problem. If they can't deal with who we are, too bad. At other times, it would be nice to be a little considerate. We could tuck our identities in once in a while.
It can hurt to find that someone who loves you at home doesn't want to be seen with you in public. But it's a pretty common problem, and maybe it will hurt a little less if you understand the social dynamics of what's going on. In our culture, two generations can sometimes be two subcultures, with two very different sets of norms. Perhaps in one, you wouldn't be caught dead doing what you absolutely must do in the other. And sometimes there's no way to win - neither by being yourself nor by pretending not to be.
It's possible to be embarrassed by people who are neither your parents nor your children. You can be embarrassed by your spouse, or your friends. It can even be embarrassing to see strangers behave in ways that don't seem right. But at least you're less likely to see strangers as reflections of yourselves.
I don't remember whether my parents ever embarrassed me, or whether I ever embarrassed them. Probably. I know I sometimes embarrassed my children, and vice versa. It can be sublime to have moments when you can be proud of each other in public. But that's not the way it is all the time.

Dropping Out 318.
I think it's significant that I wrote 317 articles without even mentioning the possibility that some people may decide not to go to school any longer than they have to. As far as I know, all of my friends finished high school, and most of them went on to college. If I found out that one of my friends never finished high school, it wouldn't change the friendship; it would confirm my conviction that dropping out of high school does not turn you into another kind of creature.
I never even considered dropping out of high school. High school was where all my friends were, and besides, the propaganda given out by all the adults I knew worked on me. If I dropped out, I thought, I would become an untouchable. I did drop out of Boy Scouts, though. I decided, as I turned thirteen, that I'd gotten to a point where being a Boy Scout just wasn't meaningful to me, and wasn't helping me prepare for what I wanted to do in life. Some of what happened in school wasn't, either, but I had to put up with that if I wanted to go to college. And I did.
I think that in a way, the propaganda I got gave an inaccurate message. True, in our society, it makes practical sense for most people to graduate from high school. A high school diploma opens up some options that may turn out to be useful. But that's not the message I received when I was in high school. What I heard was that only immoral and inferior people dropped out - that I had to stay in school if I wanted to be a worthwhile person. It took me years to get to the point where I even thought of reconsidering that message.
As parents and teachers, we try to guide children and adolescents toward paths that will make their lives pleasant and productive. The way our society works, finishing school is often a very practical thing to do, and so we try to get them to do so. It's possible to get a high school diploma later on, but later on, it's harder, partly because there's more often rent to pay, etc., and partly because some of the aspects of the high school curriculum that seemed irrelevant and dumb when you were an adolescent turned out to have actually been irrelevant and dumb.
I think it makes a lot of sense to graduate from high school. Maybe it would make sense to make some changes in high school so that graduation could mean different things to different people. A lot of what I learned in high school has done nothing for me, as I thought it wouldn't when I learned it. I've never had occasion to refer to halogens or secants in my work or play. But I had to learn about halogens and secants in order to get my diploma. And having a better-than-average long term memory, I still remember what they are. But so what?
I would still encourage people to stay in school at least long enough to graduate from high school. I hope the eighty children I know who just finished second grade stay in school at least another ten years. To me, ten years isn't so long. But I hope their decision to stay in school is made for practical reasons, and not just to avoid being seen as drop-outs.

Slumps, Rolls, and the Good Life 319.
I wrote 315 articles in about 500 days, rarely pausing for more than two days. But I've just finished about two weeks during which I didn't write any articles, and then 24 hours during which I wrote four. If I were taking my roles as columnist and author more seriously, the two week gap would have worried me more than it did. But I'm in a very comfortable position: my retirement income pays my bills, and my budget is working. If I choose to write or teach, I'm doing it because I want to. And if school's out and nothing inspires me to write, I can go for a roll in the woods.
Most of you don't have that luxury. And so you do what you can to get through the day. Maybe your days are mostly inspiring, maybe not. If your vocation or avocation requires creativity, you rely on well-timed inspirations, you find ways to make inspiration happen, or you try to fake it. And if you're a teacher who's feeling uninspired, you're probably passing on some of that feeling to the children you teach.
After my two-week "vacation," I was ready to write again, and if I write at my present pace (which probably won't happen), I'll quickly make up for lost time. I'm convinced that my two-week "slump" and my 24-hour "roll" were both due to the lack of pressure. Nobody is telling me to hurry up and write. And even if they did, I wouldn't pay much attention.
As a magazine editor, I try to get other people to meet a deadline. My approach is to apply as little pressure as possible. Part of my reason is that all of the writers are volunteers; they write because they have things they want to express. The deadlines are real (I tried calling them "lifelines," but it didn't fool anybody); a paid person turns our material into a magazine, and has a schedule she must follow. But another part of my reason is my belief that the best results come from the absence of external pressure.
I don't know exactly how this belief can be applied to school. Teachers have to be "on" whether or not they really feel inspired. And children are supposed to write when the teacher says, "Write," draw when the teacher says, "Draw," and so on. The six hours most children spend in school, like the eight hours most adults spend at work, are the hours during which they're supposed to do what they do. And do it well.
Still, I hope that it's possible to fit in some time to let your muses do their things. You shouldn't have to wait until you retire to do the important work you were meant to do. And as much as possible, children should be freed to create, not forced to create. I know that's easy for me to say. But I've done a lot of getting and spending, so I do have something to compare this good life to. And I recommend that you try to be a little easier on yourself.

What to Say to Drugs 320.
When I was in college, most people I knew smoked marijuana, and many tried lots of other drugs that altered their moods and perceptions. I didn't. Not because I thought it was evil, although I'd heard propaganda to that effect. I stayed away from drugs because I didn't want my moods or perceptions altered by chemicals. Life was doing a fine job altering my mind, and I liked the way life seemed to be going. I had some psychological trouble adjusting to college, but I never got suicidal or otherwise dangerous.
As a teacher, I sometimes encountered children who were taking drugs that altered their moods and behavior. Ritalin was the most common one, but there were others. It always bothered me when medication seemed to be the first thing tried. Bypassing diet and other less invasive approaches, doctors seemed to prescribe drugs at the drop of a hat. Parents often brought their children to doctors hoping that some drug would solve whatever problems they had in mind.
Sometimes it worked. Children who had seemed to have no self-control were able to function well in school while under the influence of ritalin. And during occasional two-week periods when they were taken off the drug (by their doctors), there were very conspicuous changes in their behavior. I did not like those two weeks. Parents tended to time it so that their children were in school at those times - maybe so they wouldn't have to deal with it so much, but maybe so that vacation time could be pleasant family time.
Sometimes ritalin didn't work, and doctors, rather than looking at other possible approaches, prescribed other drugs, or increased the dosage of ritalin. Just as some teachers try to solve reading problems by switching basal readers, some doctors really rely on their repertoire of drugs. It's what they know, and after years of medical school and years of practice, they don't like to deal with the possibility that their expertise isn't providing solutions.
When I read The Eden Express, by Mark Vonnegut, I was impressed that the author's moods and behavior, which seemed to be part of his identity throughout most of the book, turned out to be symptoms of schizophrenia, and were significantly altered through medication. He went from being depressed - suicidal - to settling down, going to medical school, and living a life that, so far, seems to be working for him.
I am quite skeptical about the drugs that are being discovered as possible cures or treatments for multiple sclerosis. I try to use diet, exercise, acupuncture, reading, and talking to people who have found ways to manage MS. I'm not totally committed to saying "no" to drugs, but

People Who Don't Like Children 321.
I know there are people who don't like children. In a previous article, I wrote that my best friends have children or want them. At the time I wrote that, I was thinking of only five of my friends, and applying the phrase "best friends" to them. But there isn't really such a simple hierarchy. I hope my other friends don't read that article and take it too personally.
I recently spoke with a good friend who has never had children, doesn't think she'll ever want any, and doesn't like to spend much time with children. I realized, as we talked, that though we don't share love for children, I respect her, and am glad she knows herself well enough not to want and have children at this point in her life. A lot of people don't know themselves that well. As for her prediction about her future wants, it doesn't matter if she changes her mind later. To everything, there is a season.
I know of many people who have children or work with children for what I consider wrong reasons. Some think it's morally good to like children, and so they try to like the "little monsters." They fail, but some of them keep going as if they like children. They put on acts, and relate to children in toxic ways. Perhaps they do so because that's how adults related to them as they were growing up, and they think that's how it's supposed to be.
Some people seem to see children as slaves whose only reason for being on earth is to somehow improve adults' lives. Whatever such children do had better make life better. If not, there are unpleasant consequences all ready to happen. I don't know too many adults like that, but that's because I've consciously avoided spending time with them. I know they exist.
And then there are the ones who thought they'd like children and found out, after the fact, that they don't. Some of them take responsibility for that mistake. They know what's good for children, or they work to learn it, and though unhappy, they do their best to give their children good lives. They do lots of sacrificing, while trying not to send their children on guilt trips.
I don't have an intimate understanding of this phenomenon; I love children. It was hard for my friend to tell me she didn't like children. She wondered whether that would hurt our friendship. It didn't. I had already suspected that she greatly preferred adults, and I congratulated her on getting to know that about herself in time. I firmly believe that people who, for whatever reasons, don't like the way life starts should try to spend their time with people who are well past the beginning, and leave the novices to the rest of us.

Difficulty 322.
A friend of mine once took issue with the statement, "Nobody said life would be easy." She distinctly remembers getting the impression that it would. Maybe adults don't come right out and tell children that life is going to be easy, but they aren't always completely honest about how hard it can be, and some people have rude awakenings later on, when they find out.
Life can be quite difficult. I learned that only recently. I had thought that if I did everything the way I was supposed to, everything would fall neatly into place, and I'd gracefully coast through life. It wasn't happening, but I thought that was because I wasn't doing it right. If I had made the "right" decisions, I thought, I wouldn't be dealing with the difficulties I was dealing with.
I really do like life, but it's not anywhere near as easy as I thought it was going to be. I grew up in houses owned by my parents. Some of the houses were big (by my standards), and sat on what I considered lots of land. I thought my life would be more moderate - that I would own a little house, and hardly any land. And I thought that would be relatively easy to get. I gradually learned that even my modest plans were going to take a lot more work than I'd thought.
I could spend the rest of this article complaining about how hard my life has been - even the parts I thought were easy as I was living them. But you've probably heard enough about how hard people's lives are. It's somewhat healthy to be aware of difficulties as you experience them; it makes it so you don't blame yourself too much when you fail to do what's difficult for you, and you take more pride when you succeed. But obsessing on your troubles can get obnoxious. And it can become competitive (you think YOU'VE got troubles?...).
We do sometimes give our children the impression that life is going to be easy. Most people do have some easy times, and it's all relative, anyway. Children see their adult role models buying things that cost several weeks' worth of allowance, and seeming nonchalant about it. They see that adults who want to get somewhere have enviable resources for travelling - cars, buses, sometimes even airplanes. It can be hard to be a child, and adult life can seem relatively easy.
As hard as we try to help our children prepare for what may happen, there's only so much we can prepare them for. Maybe we ought to make sure we're careful as we give children our messages about how easy and difficult life is going to be: some parts of life will be easier than you think, some will be harder than you think, and some will be just as hard or easy as you think. Que sera, sera.

Fun 323.
"Fun" is a little word. It's nowhere near as big as "responsibility" or "accountability." But I think it's much more important than some people seem to think. I guess I have a broader definition of the word that allows me to make the statement, "Learning is fun," without much reservation. In my mind, ignorance is not bliss, and the less ignorant we are, the better off we are.
It has always bothered me a little when people have praised teachers for "making learning fun." To me, that's like praising someone for making water wet. Learning already is fun. Not every little bit of it is fun, but if the whole thing were a drag, people wouldn't do it so much. Some masochists might stay with it. Maybe some martyrs would heroically keep up the good fight. And some pragmatists would learn so that they could accomplish their goals. The average person, though, would go do something else.
But everybody's doing it. Even the strictest of hedonists learn. The process of learning may be what's fun, or maybe it's the results. Or both. Maybe learning makes it so you can solve a problem, get a job, accomplish a goal. By my expanded definition, it's all right if some parts of learning aren't as enjoyable as other parts; the whole thing is still fun. I don't enjoy the work involved in preparing and eating artichokes, but I love artichokes.
I've known people who were really annoyed by my emphasis on fun. They've thought I've been robbing children of opportunities for successful lives. "Children," they've said, "can't expect everything to be fun. Life is tough, and they might as well learn it while they're young." I've always been bothered by that mindset. In my mind, I've told such people that life is to be enjoyed, and if children don't learn that when they're young, they could grow up to be as numb as the people who get bothered by fun. But I didn't say it out loud.
Now, I don't think we're as far apart as I used to think we were. I think of the adults who get bothered by fun as people who were once children, and learned some things the hard way. They care about their children, and worry that their children will suffer later for the fun they're having now. They want to make sure that doesn't happen.
I've recently started reading again. I don't quite understand why I went so long without reading, but I spontaneously started again. I've written so much that I've started to see authors as my peers, and I want to hear what's on their minds. They have some good things to say, and they aren't all going to come say these things to me in person. The main thing is, I read because I want to. It's fun.

"My Little Doggie" 324.
When I was eight years old, I wrote a poem:
Oh my goodness, oh my gosh.
My little doggie forgot to wash.
Oh my goodness, oh my grace.
My little doggie has a dirty face.
I had a good sense of rhyme and meter, and the poem did also say something. Looking at it now, I don't consider it one of the great works of literature. Perhaps there was a significant message in it about the importance of good hygiene. But I don't think so. When I wrote it, though, I was so proud of myself! My teacher, Mrs. Saffron, made a big deal about it, and the poem was displayed on the bulletin board.
A few years later, I wrote a poem about the Civil War. The only part of it I remember was that at the end a soldier "shot a fire, and died." What I'd meant was "fired a shot, and died." My parents had guests over, and they were all in the living room. A ready-made audience. I read the poem, and when I was done, there was uproarious laughter in the room. I hadn't meant the poem to be funny.
Whatever confidence I'd gotten from my teacher's reaction to "My Little Doggie" was severely damaged by the laughter. I'd seen my parents' friends give lots of accolades to my brother Richie when he'd read them a love poem he'd written:
When breezes are soft and skies are fair,
I steal an hour from confusion and care,
And hie me away to the dreamland scene,
Where wander the thoughts of thee, serene.
I put my brother's poem to music, and we got some good feedback about our song. That felt good, and all sibling rivalry aside, I was kind of proud of my brother, and glad I could contribute music to his creation. But it was clear to me that I should leave the lyrics to Richie. I was a musician, not a poet.
Now, I'm very careful to let children know I appreciate their work. When something a child writes strikes me as funny, I hold back laughter with all my might until I'm sure it was meant to be funny. If it wasn't, but I can't hold back the laughter, I'm quick to apologize, and give the child serious appreciation.
I've recovered from the laughing episode. I've written lots of poems and song lyrics, and people usually only laugh at the parts I mean to be funny. So I'm okay now. Children and other people are resilient creatures. And I don't think the laughter I got in that living room was meant to have the devastating effect it had on me. I don't think anyone there thought I'd remember it thirty-seven years later. But I do.

Whose Fault Is It? 325.
People waste an awful lot of energy thinking of ways to avoid taking responsibility for things that don't work out right. That energy could be used to seek out the real sources of problems - both the external ones and the little flaws we humans have. And the problems would end up getting solved sooner.
Ultimately, I don't think anybody's to blame for anything. In everyday life, I think I do my share of blaming, but in the back of my mind, I try to remember that people don't start out intending to be who they end up being, and do what they end up doing. Intention eventually gets to be quite a force - in some people more than in others - but no matter how strong it gets, it's not the only force.
People sometimes search frantically for someone or something to blame. They think that they've got to find an external reason for their failures or shortcomings. If they don't, they think, then they're to blame. They think there's something they could/should have done differently, and if it weren't for them, everything would be fine. And they don't want to think that.
Children's first attempts at blaming can seem funny (if they don't infuriate you). They blame people or things that couldn't possibly be guilty. Or they deny their own roles when there is incontrovertible evidence sitting right there. Like many adults, they don't want to believe that they could possibly contribute to problems; they want to see themselves as contributors to solutions.
As we grow, some of us start to take some responsibility. Some even take it too far, blaming themselves for things that really aren't their fault at all. Some spend hours in therapy learning how to redirect that guilt. They learn to blame their parents, or other significant people in their lives. Of course, if you fully accept my thesis, their parents, etc. aren't guilty, either. But I guess the first step is for us to learn not to blame ourselves.
Somewhere along the process, I think we're supposed to start believing that even though we're not to blame for what has happened so far, we're in charge of what happens from now on. If things go well, that's not so hard to do. There's a bit of a logical problem there: if we're responsible for what works, aren't we also to blame for what doesn't?
But we humans don't like to take responsibilty for things that don't turn out well. We'd much rather take credit for things that do, and blame the rest of the world for the problems. Perhaps you wonder how we got that way. Well, don't look at me; I had nothing to do with it.

The Will to Succeed 326.
There are many factors that combine to make it possible for people to learn, and when it doesn't happen, there are also many possible reasons. I don't mean alibis; I dealt with those in my last article. We can honestly and meticulously study people's success or failure, and get pretty good ideas about what are the possible causes. Ideally, whatever we find out is used to make success more likely.
But that's not always the way it is. Children (and, of course, adults) who want to succeed are often able to learn what they "theoretically" can't. That is, obstacles that have been identified by expert obstacle-identifiers may not prove to be as formidable as the experts think. That's because some experts can get so caught up in their diagnostic procedures that they forget to think about the power of determination. Determination can be pretty formidable, too.
I've worked with children who have been able to meet challenges they weren't supposed to be able to meet, because they really wanted to. I don't mean to imply that children who don't succeed don't want to. But for some children, difficulties are seen as exciting challenges, not insurmountable obstacles. Child A may have as much difficulty learning to read as child B does, but child A may learn faster, because child A may have a more intense will to learn to read.
As teachers, we try to unleash the power of the will to learn. Some children clearly have strong wills, but they don't necessarily use these wills for purposes the teachers have in mind. Teachers have wills, too, and when wills clash, bad things sometimes happen to good people. If this keeps happening, willful children can be their own worst enemies (assuming, for now, that willful teachers really are doing all they can).
We try to find ways to motivate children to learn. If, as I've written before, learning is fun, then all we have to do is make sure that children see what fun it is. But if children have already had experiences that contradict that view of learning, it may not be so easy to change their minds. Those previous experiences may have been planned by teachers who were also trying to emphasize the joy of learning, but such attempts aren't always successful, and each failure makes subsequent success more difficult.
But when a child's will is on our side, great things - sometimes seemingly impossible things - can happen. So one of the many important jobs teachers have is to find ways to get children to see that there really is something in it for them - that whatever we are trying to teach them will be pleasant to learn and/or pleasant to know. It's not enough for teachers to be determined to teach; they have to get children to be determined to learn.

The Outdoor Classroom 327.
Most children like to go outside. Part of the reason is that like most adults, they like the planet we live on, and it can be experienced more fully when there are no walls, doors, and windows in the way. When we first built buildings, we did it to protect ourselves and our loved ones from inclement weather and predators.
But teachers often keep children inside even when the weather is perfect and there are no predators around. I think the main reason for that is that the world outside the school is too interesting - too hard to compete with. There are also some practical considerations: even slight breezes can turn pages, or carry away papers. But there are ways around those problems. The main problem is that children have a natural tendency to pay attention to whatever is most interesting, and what goes on outside the school is often more interesting than the activities teachers have planned.
A lot of that interesting stuff can be made part of the curriculum. When children study measurement, they can measure things that are outside. As they study insects, they can go outside and see for themselves how those little creatures live. The outside world is rich with opportunities for great lessons. Then why is almost the whole school day spent inside, even on the best days September and May have to offer? I can give you my own answer: I sometimes had difficulty planning lessons that were more interesting than what children wanted to do outside. Children knew that they usually went outside just for recess, and no matter how hard I worked to prepare them to go there for something else, the minute they got outside, some of them felt as if it was recess, and behaved accordingly. Without the walls of the indoor classroom, they felt free. And though there were plenty of children who did what I asked them to do, there were also plenty who didn't. And since I was accountable for all of the children, I felt that I had to bring the class back inside.
There were successful outdoor lessons, too. They usually included many more than the usual number of adults, and they were usually not near the playground. Parent volunteers and I worked with small groups of children, showing them and letting them show us fascinating phenomena in the world outside the school. We heard children's questions, sometimes answered them, and sometimes helped them find their own answers. There was lots of great teaching and learning going on. When it was time to go in, neither adults nor children wanted to.
If I had it to do over again, I don't think I would spend so much energy trying to convince children to control themselves. If the lesson were interesting, self-control wouldn't be such an issue. So I would spend more energy planning the lessons - exploring the environments I'd later explore with the children, and figuring out which activities were most likely to compete with recess. And I'd make sure there were always plenty of other adults helping me teach.
A Letter to Pat 328.
The Pat I'm writing to is a fictional character - a composite of all the people who, for one reason or another, didn't think I was doing a very good job teaching. Pat may have been a parent, a teacher, an administrator, or a child. There were more people who thought that way in 1969, when I started my teaching career, than in 1994, when I retired, but there were always some.

Dear Pat,
Before I say anything else, I want you to know that I tried with all my might to be a good teacher. I tried to pay attention to the needs of every child, and to do the right things. If a child had difficulty, or had a personality that bothered me, I tried to find ways to establish an effective teaching relationship with that child. If you thought I wasn't trying, you were wrong.
But effort isn't enough. We give children lots of credit for trying, as we should. But adults who are doing important work have to do more than try; they have to succeed. Professional athletes don't get much credit for trying to get touchdowns, hits, baskets, or goals. They get credit for making it more possible for their teams to win. If that happens, then they usually also get credit for the effort.
I got lots of credit from lots of people. They saw evidence that I was doing what they thought ought to be done. Either they actually saw me in action, or they saw the results of what I did - new skill or knowledge, or an improved attitude. From those people's points of view, I was a good teacher. And from my own point of view, I was pretty good.
And there are people who may have read my articles, but have never or rarely seen me teach. Most of the ones I've heard from seem to think I must have been a phenomenal teacher - one of the all-time greats. How else could I have written all these insightful articles?
But writing and teaching are two separate skills. Much of what I've written describes actual effective lessons I've planned and taught. So at least some of my teaching was undeniably good. But as a writer, I get to choose which things I want to tell you about. And there's no way I'm going to tell you about the times I kept trying something even though it was quite obvious that it wasn't going to work. I'm not going to advertise my shortcomings.
This letter isn't just an apology, but it is partly apologetic. I'm sorry that I was not as effective as you wished I would be. I wish you hadn't asked me to resign, complained about me, taken your child out of my class, or whatever you did to make me think you disapproved of my teaching. But just as I know I could have helped some children more than I did, please know that there were probably ways you and I could have found common ground.
Sincerely,
Bob Blue
Accountability 329.
We expect people to do the jobs they're hired to do, and do them well. If we elect someone to political office and she/he doesn't do the jobs involved the way we want them done, we try to get him/her to shape up, and if that doesn't work, we elect someone else. We can't all be satisfied, of course; we're not all in the various majorities that form as issues come up. But we try to make our voices heard in ways that focus on our real concerns.
Teachers are not exactly politicians, though any teacher can tell you that there are political aspects to teaching. You can't keep saying the wrong things (or the right things at the wrong times). And teachers are affected both directly and indirectly by the electorate: funding issues, education laws, and to some degree, even personnel issues are addressed in voting booths (we elect people who hire people).
So school personnel are accountable. They're hired to get people to learn. They've got to make sure that they're teaching what the public wants taught, and that their teaching causes conspicuous learning. If not, they have to deal with whatever consequences the public can manage to come up with.
As with politicians, the public isn't necessarily able to correct teachers' behavior as immediately as some people wish. Teachers - especially those with tenure - have some protection from the whims of the masses; they can't be fired just because an angry pack of people doesn't like what they're doing. Sometimes teachers go through Hell when their heart-felt convictions conflict with those of people who want them to "shape up or ship out." I have gone through that Hell, and I know many other teachers who have, too.
But people who send or bring their children to school have rights, too. And sometimes they object to things that are downright objectionable: favoritism, sloth, inappropriate modelling, and incompetence. At least some of their tax dollars are used to pay teachers and administrators, and they don't want to pay those dollars for work that doesn't end up getting done the way they want it done.
Like people in voting booths, concerned parents sometimes feel as if they're spitting in the wind. They grudgingly pay those tax dollars to get their children educated, and then some pay tuition to REALLY get their children educated. They're angry; that's not the way the system is supposed to work.
Teacher accountability is not at all a simple issue. Most teachers care about both children and parents, but they also care about the environment, the government, various social issues - the way the world goes. And some may not have the same priorities others may wish they had. But hang in there. Let's keep holding each other and ourselves accountable for what happens to children. We can work it out. Relaxing Standards 330.
I give children piano lessons. I won't accept money for it, because I don't want to have to think about whether I deserve to be paid. I'm retired, and I don't have to deal with that any more. And my approach to teaching piano is unorthodox enough that most parents could easily raise eyebrows about paying me. Their children probably aren't going to be doing any recitals while I'm teaching. The works of Chopin, Mozart, et al. will lie quietly on my shelves while children learn "Chopsticks," "Heart and Soul," and whatever else they want to learn. And some children will make up their own music, which may or may not sound anything like any music we're used to.
In a typical piano lesson in my apartment, a child makes sounds on the piano that the child and I choose to call music while I listen attentively. I may ask a question or two now and then, or make a suggestion. But my questions are not typically pedagogical: "Is that a tune you made up?" "Can I hear that again?" And my suggestions are really just suggestions: "I'd like to hear what that sounds like louder," or "Can you make up a tune about the weather clearing up and getting sunny?" If the child wants to ignore my suggestions, that's okay.
Children don't usually get undivided attention from adults, or if they do, there are usually strings attached. Adults know what they have in mind, and since they're bigger, what children have in mind gets subordinated. That's often a good thing; what children have in mind isn't always the best thing. Mozart and Chopin wrote some tunes that are much more fun to hear than "Heart and Soul." But that's not what these lessons are about.
I "teach" dance, too. That is, I sit and watch children dance. Anyone who has ever seen me dance may giggle at the thought of me teaching dance. And nowadays, anyone who sees me take a few steps may wonder how I can even think of teaching dance. But music, dance, and visual art (which I also "teach") are expressive arts, and there are too many situations where children are discouraged from expressing themselves, or told exactly how to do so.
So I have the luxury of teaching the way I want to. Since I don't charge money, I don't have to worry about complaints. You may have noticed that I put quotes around the word "teach" in some of my sentences. I did that in deference to the people who work harder, and get children to impress you with their skill. They have important roles to play, too; some children and parents want to deal with more than "Chopsticks." But I believe that the role I'm playing is also valuable. The lessons I give are chances for children to express their hearts and souls.

Being Slow 331.
I recently had a conversation with a friend who had a stroke a few years ago. She is paralyzed on one side of her body, and like me, has to do things more slowly than she used to. That can be quite frustrating. It takes her longer to do simple tasks most people take for granted. Same here. Buttoning buttons never used to be an athletic task for me, but it is now. And as for Chopin's "Minute Waltz," which I used to try to play in a minute, forget it.
That's the down side. But there is an up side. When we write, we have to take our time. We've both gone from being proficient typists to hunting and pecking with one hand. That makes it so that getting our thoughts on paper takes much longer. We can type no word before its time. And having plenty of time, we think. I'm not saying you quick people don't think, but it often helps to think slowly. As you rush through life, you miss a lot, and as you rush through communication, you may bypass le mot juste. We slow people have time to get the subtleties.
We often hear that wisdom comes with age, and there's some truth to that, but for Pete's sake, I'm only forty-seven! Well, almost forty-eight. And yet I've been called "wise" by so many people that its starting to go to my head. I'll take some of the credit they're giving me, but I also give a lot of credit to my slowness. Not being able to type sixty words per minute, and not being able to be part of the rat race most of you have to run, I have plenty of time to think.
And sometimes I have to stop. Right now, for example. When I finish typing this paragraph, I'm going to stop typing and go have breakfast. I'm tired of typing. As I eat, I'll bet I'm going to think of more things I want to write. Maybe they'll be profound, or at least clever. For now, I'll let the beginning of this article age a little.
I'm back. It was a good breakfast. I listened to the news on the radio, and didn't think much about this article. That's all right. My writing style, which is often stream-of-consciousness, does not require that I always know what I'm going to say before I say it. In conversations, it's often a good idea to prepare your messages mentally before you let them out. That's not the case when you write, because no one has to see your words until you want them to. Back in my pencil and pen days, I had to plan a little more, because I didn't want to have to start all over on a new piece of paper. But now I can mess up without worrying. Thank Heaven for the delete key.
My stream of consciousness carried me to a lagoon where I didn't quite stick to the subject. That's okay. I don't know about you, but I don't have any urgent business I have to attend to. I'm writing this article on the Fourth of July, and I declare independence of the clock and the calendar. I think someone ought to design a bumper sticker that says "Slow Power." And I think drivers who sport that bumper sticker should stay proudly in the right lane.
When Wishes Come True 332.
They say that we should be very careful what we wish for. Some of our wishes, they say, could end up coming true. I never used to catch the drift of that warning. On one level, I understood what it meant - that a poorly conceived wish, if granted, could bring on unforeseen disaster. We could end up learning, too late, that we didn't want what we thought we wanted, and there could very well be calamities that would make us eat our words. But as far as I was concerned, the calamities thus warned against seemed quite unlikely; I wanted my wishes to come true, and if their realization had consequences I didn't like, I'd deal with them later.
We want our children to live lives that reflect our fondest dreams and deepest convictions. Good parents are flexible about that; their children know that they'll be loved even if they don't faithfully reflect all the dreams and convictions their parents want them to. Still, it's nice, once in a while, to be able to smile, sit back, and proudly say, "That's my kid!" It makes all the work of parenting seem worthwhile. Our children may seem a little embarrassed by that pride, but for the most part, I think they like it.
But sometimes, when our children end up strikingly similar to our dreams, that turns out not to be what we really wanted at all. The child of a military person volunteers to serve in a war overseas, and Major Mom or Dad realizes that that child, though doing his/her parents proud, could end up getting killed. And that wasn't part of the dream; the dream had to do with Purple Hearts and other medals. We teach our children values, and if we teach them well, we see some of our values lived out. Sometimes that gives us second thoughts.
Our children can keep us honest with ourselves, or if we weren't honest in the first place, they can make us honest. We hear ourselves saying to our children, in effect, "How dare you think, say, and do exactly what we taught you to think, say, and do? We were speaking theoretically! We didn't think you would actually take our words to heart! And we certainly didn't expect you to act on those ideals we taught you!" What follows may be accusations of hypocrisy. And I guess we're somewhat guilty as charged; we know what we WANT to believe in, but there are more things going on in our minds than just our high-fallutin' convictions.
The people our children become are, to some degree, reflections of who we are. They can be the best and worst of who we are. (They can also rebel, and seem to be the exact opposites of us, but that's not what this article is about.) So here's fair warning for those of you who don't already know: the things you say to or model for your children may end up being significant parts of who your children are. So be careful what you wish for.

Classics 333.
Once in a while, somebody creates something that's really good - so good that people like it even when that somebody isn't around any more. Then it's called a classic. Some classics start to seem sacred; you aren't supposed to change a word, note, or stroke of it. You've got to keep it exactly the way its creator meant it to be. The folk process can change folk tales, folk songs, etc., but classics aren't supposed to be put through any folk processor.
I understand that way of thinking. I have my own favorite classics. I wouldn't want a word of Walt Whitman's poetry or a note of Beethoven's music to be changed. That's partly because those words and notes are so good the way they are, and partly because they're part of my past. Not that I remember Walt or Ludwig personally, but I remember reading Whitman's poetry and hearing Beethoven's music in high school. And I want to hold on to those memories.
I've developed my own strategy for dealing with people's tendency to mess with the classics. I look at their altered versions as separate works. When I first heard "A Fifth of Beethoven" during the disco era, I tried not to think of it as the bastardization of a classic. To me, it was just a disco tune. As far as I was concerned, Beethoven's fifth symphony was intact; if it had inspired someone to create some new music, that was okay with me.
My friend Phil Hoose recently reminded me that works of art don't become classics just by being good - that they have to be heard, seen, or read by people with influence. Phil refers to DWEM's (dead, white, European males) as the ones whose creations get called classics in our culture. He thinks Ray Charles deserves a shot at it, too. I agree. And I suspect that there are also great artists whose work is given less credit than Ray Charles. I recently heard that Sitting Bull was an accomplished songwriter. Not to mention the female half of the human race, some of whom had to call themselves "George" or something to get any recognition.
I'm sure that when Shakespeare first came out with his plays, some critics accused him of mangling the classics. He took a time-honored myth, "Pyramus and Thisbe," and turned it into a popular play called "Romeo and Juliet." He changed the names, the setting, the plot - people who liked "Pyramus and Thisbe" must have thought some nasty things about Shakespeare. Why couldn't the vulgar bard leave well enough alone? And then, a few hundred years later, Sondheim and Bernstein came up with "West Side Story," which was even further from "Pyramus and Thisbe." When will it end?
I choose not to let it bother me. Disney Productions can come up with versions of classics and folk tales, and as far as I'm concerned, they're separate projects, to be judged on their own merits. Some may become classics, and some may not. People of the future will decide.

Independence 334.
I'm writing this article the day after Independence Day. I realized, as I woke, that the word "independence" contains a prefix. We have a holiday to celebrate something we aren't. In fact, on July 4, 1776, all we did was publish a document that said we weren't dependent. It's kind of like Groundhog's Day; we celebrate something that we once hoped would eventually be true. But really, I think King George may have had a point when he wrote, "Nothing of significance happened today." All that happened was the signing of a document. Later on, that turned out to be significant, but not until a whole bunch of other things happened.
Even though Barbra Streisand later sang to us that people who need people are better off, independence is still a big concept in our culture. I was excited about the prospect of going to the big celebration yesterday, seeing lots of people I knew and liked, and ending the evening with a bang, but the wheelchair-accessible buses weren't running, and there was too great a chance of heavy rain. In situations like that, celebrating my own independence is not a good idea. I could end up getting soaked
Independence is relative. It could be a good thing, but acting independent prematurely could turn out to be a real downer. It depends. Children like to be independent. They often don't want us to help them. They want to do it themselves. They see adults doing things without help, and if adults can do it, then why not children? They don't want to have to wait until their eighteenth or twenty-first birthdays. And we adults like to be independent, too. One of the major reasons I'm glad I grew up is that I don't have to be as dependent as I used to be. So it's a little embarrassing and a little disappointing to find, at age forty-seven, that I have some special needs that I didn't have before. But at least I've grown up enough not to need someone else to tell me that I have special needs.
We often want our parents to be there for us long after we've grown up. And parents often are there, helping out with a down payment, or staying with the grandchildren in a pinch. On the other hand, our parents can get to a point where they depend on us more than we depend on them. But I've heard, from people whose parents have died, that even if those parents ended their lives extremely dependent, the grown children who mourn their passing can still feel like orphans. People only want to be as independent as they want to be. And people who need people are really only lucky if there are also people around willing to be needed, and willing to back off when they're not needed. If not, people who don't need people are the luckiest people in the world.

Useless Arguments 335.
Sometimes a child comes up to me and tells me, with conviction, something that simply isn't true. As a teacher, I used to make a big thing of it. After all, truth is pretty important to us teachers. Colleges print "Veritas" on their flags and stationery - even etch it on to their stone buildings. So what good are we as educators if we allow untruths to go unchallenged?
Besides, there's the matter of personal integrity. When we know what's true, it just doesn't feel right to allow inaccurate statements to lie there, unchallenged. Some people aren't bothered by that at all, but a lot of us are.
I once heard from a child that there was an active volcano in San Juan, Puerto Rico. There isn't. But he was born in San Juan, and it was important to him to be right about this. I went to the library with him. We found several books about Puerto Rico. Some of the books even had photographs of San Juan. There were no volcanoes in the photographs. But on the other hand, these books, which were full of all kinds of information, did not once say, "There are no active volcanoes in San Juan."
It gradually dawned on me that this was not about volcanoes. I was dealing with a child who wasn't getting many chances to be an expert, and he wanted to at least be an expert on San Juan. So I changed my approach. I told him it bothered me that the people who made those books didn't even know about the active volcano. You'd think they'd check it out. It was a good thing that we had an expert - someone who was born in San Juan.
If you're the kind of stickler for accuracy I used to be, my approach to this issue probably bothers you. But as much as I'm devoted to truth, I'm also devoted to children. And children sometimes have priorities that are temporarily more important than truth. So I told him that I didn't know who was right about this - the authors of these books, or this child who came from San Juan. I told him I'd never been to San Juan (which was true) and he had - that I was almost ready to take his word for it, but that I had to leave room for the possibility that even he could make mistakes.
He liked the authority role I had given him. He liked the fact that I was taking him seriously, not casually dismissing his words. He told me it wasn't the authors' fault that they didn't know about the volcano; very few people know about it.
Now, he's older, and probably more ready to believe books - less apt to stick with early childhood memories or fantasies. And he's more able to rely on other areas of expertise. I don't bring up the volcano issue. Probably, he's forgotten the whole thing. And I think the truth has survived that episode.

Why I Don't Seem So Angry 336.
A friend of mine recently read some of my articles and told me that though he enjoyed reading them, he wondered why I didn't sound angrier. He and I belong to the People's Music Network, a group of people who are hoping and working, through music, to have major effects on what happens in this country and this world. There's a lot of anger in our network - anger about war, injustice, bigotry, the destruction of our environment, and more.
I am angry about a lot of things, including things that concern children, parents, and teachers. It infuriates me that people harm children. I've referred to our society's messed up priorities; parents and teachers should be given much more support than they're given. I'm not just saying these things to prove that I can be angry; I really am angry.
Some people can be both angry and articulate at the same time. Not me, so much. In my experience, when I feel intense anger, it's better not to go public with it right away. I think about my anger, and try to come up with strategies that will let people know what's on my mind in ways that they can hear. If I yell, swear, or insult people's sacred cows, fewer people are going to get my message. So I write when I'm feeling pensive and/or inspired. My anger is still there, but I try to express it in ways that work. And that doesn't sound as angry, I guess.
Hope is another factor. When I think about the future, I think about the children I've known. They'll be the ones in charge. They may not have much power right now, but as I watch them grow (and help them grow), I get good feelings about the future. I've been teaching and parenting long enough to see some of the children I've known become adults. One of them wrote a letter to the Boston Globe that made me proud of her. It focussed on an injustice that concerned her. Another is a union organizer. Another challenges me on issues I thought I'd figured out, and sometimes changes my mind. One of my former students is a lawyer who focuses on the rights of disabled people. She herself has cerebral palsy.
Some of those people are probably going to be angrier than I seem. Some may be angrier than I am. And of course, some will be complacent, or work against causes I support. I'm part of a generation I sometimes jokingly call "The Aged of Aquarius," and even though it seemed as if we were united against war and injustice, there must be plenty in our ranks who don't see things the way I do; we're the postwar baby boom, and we've elected candidates I would never vote for. I know I