The Tranquilizing Drug of Gradualism

I was seven when Martin  Luther King gave his I've Got a Dream speech.  In it he used one of my favorite lines: "This is no time to engage in the luxury of cooling off or to take the tranquilizing drug of gradualism."

Of course at the time King was referring to segregation and racial inequality, but these days his phrase could pertain to many issues and I think of it often in my field of education.  Specifically: Why is progress moving so slowly on the Navajo Reservation?  Why are we perpetuating outdated paradigms in public education?  What are we really willing to do to close the achievement gap in regards to test scores, honors courses and graduation rates between whites and ethnic minorities (Native Americans where I live).

The pace of change can feel like watching boulders move.  I'm a former music teacher so the word Adagio would still be considered too fast. We must create change on behalf of children: the western rez is short of all resources including police officers and Social Service positions/money, counseling services just to mention a few.  How can the Child Protection agency be CLOSED!  The answer is they don't have enough money and personnel to be open or even on call every day. 

In school: endless meetings about tardy policies and levels of discipline.  Good God - if we spent half that time on strategies for engaging our students, we might get somewhere!  Bell schedules, little boxy classrooms, lined up down skinny halls, classrooms that look exactly the same as decades ago - six straight rows with five desks per row, REALLY?  Why are we still teaching like it's 1974?  Make that 1954.  (disclaimer: I'm acknowledging there are exceptions.)

Our teachers are "struggling" so far this year because we changed from a 90 minute block schedule (4 a day, rotating A and B days) to a 7-period day, same classes everyday.  What they really mean is that they're having trouble changing and when I say changing, I mean having a shorter prep.  The transition was "so fast" because we didn't talk about it in endless meetings for two years.  The state said our CTE (Career and Technical) classes had to meet everyday or we'd lose our funding aaaaand BINGO, we changed the schedule.  (note to self: money creates change faster than even the magic DATA word.)  Now yes, this was a faster transition than the norm, but it was still decided before the Spring semester was over - an entire summer isn't enough time to reorganize lessons from 90 minutes every other day to 55 minutes 5 days a week?  sigh -

The gradual drug is a tranquilizer.  It numbs us into complacency and allows us to keep walking into the same madness day after day.  Our children need us to make changes.  They deserve protection and a vibrant, meaningful education.  We're the adults: educators, social workers, policeman and politicians - we have to stop drinking the Kool Aid and DO SOMETHING!

The Inspiring Force of Urgent Necessity

Perhaps you will ask me, "Why are there no other drawing in this book as magnificent and impressive as this drawing of the baobabs?" The reply is simple. I have tried. But with the others I have not been successful. When I made the drawing of the baobabs I was carried beyond myself by the inspiring force of urgent necessity.  (The Little Prince)

The Inspiring Force of Urgent Necessity: What do we absolutely have to do?  What inspires us to the point of being a necessity?

Knowing this is a game changer.  How much of our lives is spent on urgent non-necessities?  Draining our energy on this and that; telling ourselves (or believing the priorities of others) that we must get something  done and it must be NOW!  ASAP!  Super important - trust me.  It seem that making priorities out of nonnecessities and spending lots of time on uninspired must-do's drains our life force. 

I want plenty of gas in the tank when I'm ready to pass eight semi's on Hwy 89 - now that's urgency.  Just keeping my antennas up for inspiration. 

What's your "inspiring force of urgent necessity?"

Memories of September 11th

September 11, 2001: That day started with my husband waking me up. I was my usual groggy self, moving slowly and until he told me a plane had hit the World Trade Center.  I jumped to my feet and ran to the television, yelling, "What?!  Jason works there!!"  As I stood motionless staring at the screen, a plane hit the second tower.  It was surreal, scary and I remember thinking, "Do we really have to go to work (school) today?  What's going on?  This is awful!"

As I dressed I couldn't stop thinking two thoughts: "Is Jason ok?" and "I left Seth in a very dangerous place!" (We flew to Boston to move into his college dorm, one week earlier.) 

Here's a side story: After moving Seth in, my mother drove me to the Boston airport and was allowed to go through security with me. The screener slowed on my bag and I laughed about how they were probably looking at the ratchet (a metal musical instrument that makes a loud, well racket.)  They didn't open my bag and I said to my mom that I was sure they didn't know what that was, but they still didn't bother to take it out and take a closer look.  Mom leaned in and pointed out that the job was a minimum wage position like a job at McDonalds.  We were smiling and joking about what a joke the security was.

So jump back to one week later and I'm standing in front of the 7th grade band.  I can't concentrate and I'm close to tears.  I walked outside my room and another teacher strolled by, "Are you ok Sharon?" is all it took to break into a sob.  "No, I'm not ok; can you step into my class?" 

After composing myself, I stood back in front of the young musicians.  When the principal came on the loud speaker and said that everyone would be going home, there was a youthful cheer.  Before they rushed to pack up their instruments and bolt out the door, I asked the students for quiet.  They respectfully calmed down as I asked them to be aware of the seriousness of what was going on.  I urged them to remember that people were losing their lives and that this was not a day for celebration.  They were so sweet as tears ran down my cheeks.  They didn't know why, but bless their hearts, they understood.

I went home to watch the news like everyone else.  I called home, I called Seth.  Friends, Christy and Sandy stopped by to help me pass the time as I waited for news.  We drank tea and talked which was so helpful.
 ____________________ Right in that space would be all the amazing stories and feelings my brother could share (if he would blog too!) 

My cliff note version is that his Morgan Stanley division was moved from a cool tower office just about a month before 9/11.  I remember him complaining about losing the great view and having to move to building 5.  On 9/11 he was in a meeting ironically called Stress Management when the call came to evacuate.  He couldn't go back for his brief case and personal items, including identification.  He went to the street and everyone was ducking under overhangs so they wouldn't be hit by flying objects.  He later shared walking with hundreds of people when the first building fell.  People were screaming and running away.  He was yelled at to run, but he said he could see that he couldn't out run the cloud - he said he thought that was it, that the cloud would consume him, knock him out, probably kill him.  When it covered him, he said he realized that it was all dust, there were no large chunks and he started to run like hell towards the East river so he could be clear of the dust and breathe.

Once clear of the towers, he tells of trying to figure out how to get out of Manhattan and back to NJ.  No one really knew and phones weren't working.  He was standing near a fellow looking back at the second tower.  He and this stranger were discussing how they weren't completely surprised that the first tower fell because everyone that worked in the district thought that it was never reinforced to full strength after it sustained the car bombing years before.  "But the second tower will hold . . . " and then they watched it fall. 

Jason eventually made his way to the ferries that were crowded to the max taking hundreds to NJ.  No one had to pay to get on, just get on!  While on that ferry he was offered a cell phone by another stranger who was able to get a signal.  He had just called his wife in Connecticut and he asked if someone might be waiting to hear from him.  That's when he was able to call home to our parents.  There were buses and trains all waiting to carry people to various towns in NJ, no charges on anything that day . . . probably the only day ever, but at least they didn't add insult to injury.

Nine years ago, my brother lost his wallet, but not his life. When he returned to work it was in a giant warehouse.  He credits whoever at Morgan Stanley made the decision to evacuate everyone right away with saving hundreds of lives.  M.S. didn't wait to get their people out even though the second tower had not been hit yet.  Unfortunately many others were told that it was safe to stay in the building as the fire was contained in tower one.

My brother doesn't work in NYC any longer and my son lives on the West coast.  Of course we'll never forget the images and horrendous feelings of that day, but sometimes instead I try to remember waiting at the base of the towers for Jason to come out and meet Seth and I for a special treat of NYC pizza a few years earlier. Seth and I gazed at the mighty towers and were in awe of how high they were; wondered how many people must work there and just enjoyed the lower Manhattan people watching.  Then Jason came striding out of the shadows of the twin towers apologizing for not having us come inside, but explaining that the security was "crazy, not worth the trouble."  We walked off towards The Village and pizza.  I wouldn't see the towers in person again.  It's still hard to believe even after all the coverage, all the pictures, all the tears and stories that this happened. 

Thin Slicing

Thin-slicing is a term used in psychology and philosophy to describe the ability to find patterns in events based only on "thin slices" or narrow windows of experience.  It is discussed extensively in  Malcolm Gladwell's book called "Blink". 

My last post described a thin sliced memory - the memory was of a real experience, but the memory felt like a thin slice of all the times someone has had my back and what a comforting feeling that is.  I find it easy to discern if someone is just agreeing, quietly disagreeing or planning on backing me up.  I can't thin slice a painting and tell you if it's a fake or not, but I'm finding it pretty simple to know the motives of another person.

My husband has a memory that remembers detail, including dates - my mind won't do that at all.  But what it does do is thin slice memories and those inform me in the present.  Some are difficult memories and others fall in a range from melancholy to exhilarating.

Carmen Malanka - thanks for helping me recognize a bully . . . I can also thin slice someone who is being verbally bullied.  My first memories of a playground are me hanging upside down by my knees.  I learned that experiences are not to be feared if you believe in your physical abilities and judgment, but some people are not so safe.

These early experiences and memories still inform me.  Gladwell calls it "thinking without thinking."  When  recognizing an unconscious or ineffective memory, try to deal with it (there are lots of paths to undoing subconscious memories that do not inform or help us in the present, but that can be another post.)  Currently I have been glad to be recognizing the positive as often as the negative.

i.e. - Enjoying the voice of an intelligent woman.  (Thanks Mom)  This memory helps me thin slice in meetings, workshops, socializing and deciding who to listen to on television.

Have you had a thin slicing experience?  I'd like to hear about it.

If I Could Turn Back Time

Yesterday I found myself humming Cher's "If I Could Turn Back Time", posting on and wondering, what is this all about?  I'm trying to stay in the moment these days - thank you Ekhart Tolle, easier said than done!  The memory that echoed back was from a softball game, probably circa 1980- yes, 30 years ago!  I'm playing the Rover position (4th outfielder) in a local league slow pitch game.  We're sponsored by Village Inn which was a pizza joint and no longer exists on the mesa.  I look over my shoulder to see Karen the left fielder.  She smiles and nods an "I've got your back"-nod.  The actual game seems irrelevant; I don't know the score, the field is in poor condition, but it's interesting how memory works.  I just remember the friendships and that nod.

Karen was an amazing athlete.  She was strong, fast and a power hitter.  She could throw you out from left field and had a habit of diving into bases head first. I called her Pete because of her fearless slides on the base paths.  Her father didn't hear about her ballpark nickname until her memorial service, but I think he liked it and he game me her glove. 

The feeling that someone has your back has got to be one of the best; don't you agree?  I think this was the point of my retro trip.  Cher, If I'm going to turn back time, I hope it's to learn something I didn't completely get at the time and not to just to remember some cool party or old boyfriend.