Scenes from a presidential banquet, Part 3

Last week I posted part 1 from the President's story one of the students I tutor and I created. You can read it here. Somehow, part 2 has gotten lost in the bowels of Tutorville, and so I give you part 3. 

But first, a review of parts 1 and 2:

The setting: a hoity toity presidential banquet in a fancy schmanzy building; and the street outside the banquet which is, incidentally, teeming with queer characters.

The action: a man sitting on the john wearing a tie; drinks spilling; canons firing; pizza at a McDonalds next door (with 13 chimneys); a drink master who served cool soda and sherbet, and a dog named Franklin who ate a rose of felt off an unsuspecting man’s lapel (Franklin Roosevelt) etc. We left off with the dog devouring Franklin's rose of felt.

And now, scene 3:

A hippy standing in the street outside McDonalds watched the dog tear the rose to shreds. “Woooah,” he murmured. “That dog’s saliva is so hairy.” His friend, also a hippy, turned to him and said, “So true, man, so true.” (Harry Truman)

Just then, a basketball player, on his way to perform at the presidential banquet, came jogging down the street past the hippies and boomed, “Dwight in the hooooouse!!!”

This hippies watched, their mouths agape, as Dwight spun, jumped, and spun some more, right into a building.

“Ouch!” he cried as he nursed his bleeding elbow. “I need some ice!”

“The ice is in that tower, Dwight” one of the hippies said, pointing to the banquet hall’s highest turret. (Dwight Eisenhower)

Minutes later, the basketball player was in the tower icing his wound while using the John and gazing out the bathroom window. “Wow! What a view! From up here I can see Kennedy. Wait. Kentucky. Or is it Connecticut?” (John Kennedy)

He heard a knock on the door. A man from London yelled through the door to the John, “Kennedy’s not a state, son!” (Lyndon Johnson)

When the basketball player opened the door the Brit looked up at him in awe. “Hello, I’m Richard. Do you play for the Knicks or the Suns?” (Richard Nixon)

All of a sudden, one of the hippies, named Gerald, decided to go for a joyride in his Ford, up the tower stairs. (Gerald Ford).

He flew up the stairs and crashed out the side of the tower, his car dangling dangerously over the street below. The tower’s head security guard, Jimmy, put a cart under the dangling car and yelled, “Jump into this cart or die!” (Jimmy Carter)

Minutes later, Ronald walked out of McDonalds next door holding a ray gun. “I didn’t know they put these in happy meals!” he exclaimed. (Ronald Reagan)

He pointed the gun upward, tested the trigger, and accidentally shot the car perched precariously above him. Slowly, the car disappeared into thin air and the hippy fell to the ground, safe and sound.

A girl watching on the street yelled at the hippy, “Are you crazy, you almost killed my friend George! Now look at him, he’s lying disheveled in that bush!” (George Bush)

At that moment, twins, named William and Clinton, walked out of the presidential banquet, yawning with boredom. As soon as they saw George lying in the bush they ran over to help him, lifting him onto a bench with a huge “W” on it. It was an advertisement for wiener schnitzel. (George W. Bush)

And then, just as George was getting situated, out of the banquet walked the current president of the United States, Barak Obama. When he saw George, he walked over to him and said,

“Want a gummy worm?”

The end.

Note: this is in no way political commentary. It’s just a silly pneumonic device, man.

 © by scj and mg

Scenes from a presidential banquet, part 1

This fall one of the students I tutor — an elementary school kid — told me he had to memorize the American presidents (#'s 9-23) for a quiz the next day. We had thirty minutes to get him prepared. But flashcards are not his thing, man, and neither are raps. So a silly story was the name of the game. Parts of it made me laugh fit to kill. I think it deserves a public debut, especially if you like your Fridays with a side of zany. And so, I give you, “A scene from a presidential banquet, part 1” 

(Hint: read it aloud. Most of the presidents’ names are harder to see and easier to hear. All first and last names are present in the story):

At the presidential banquet, William Henry’s hairy son (William Henry Harrison) knocked impatiently on the bathroom door. “Hurry up in there!” he shouted.

Unbeknownst to him, the 10th president of the United State was sitting on the john reading the newspaper, whilst wearing a tie (John Tyler).

When John finally ventured out of the bathroom and into the ballroom, he saw James poking Zachary’s best friend Taylor (James Polk and Zachary Taylor).

Taylor was ticklish, so he fell backwards and hit Millard who was filling more punch in his cup (Millard Fillmore).

His punch spilled everywhere, splashing onto Franklin who was piercing his cake angrily with a knife (Franklin Pierce). Earlier that day, James blew a cannon at Franklin, putting him in a foul mood (James Buchanan).

At that moment, Abraham pulled up in a Lincoln (Abraham Lincoln), and Andrew and John’s sons (Andrew Johnson), who both happened to be named Ulysses, jumped out of the back seat. “We can’t wait to see the grand staircase in this banquet hall!” they exclaimed (Ulysses Grant).

While they were gushing and waiting for Abraham to park the car, a girl named Ruth came running up the street. “Have you seen a cat anywhere?!” she cried. “He’s stolen my money, and now I can’t afford to buy a hamburger. Hey! There he is! Get him!” (Rutherford Hayes).

It was Garfield. “Catch me if you can!” he yelled as he whizzed by. “I have plans to buy some lasagna! Lasagna that’s just for me — you better believe I won’t be sharing any of it with my roommate, James” (James Garfield).

Just then, Arthur the Jester (Chester Arthur) walked out of a clown shop and into Garfield’s way. He had a groovy bounce in his step as he declared to the cat, “Hey! In Cleveland, where I’m from, we don’t steal! (Grover Cleveland).” “Give that lady back her benjamins, you hairy son of a gun” (Benjamin Harrison).

And that’s it for now, folks. It’s a real cliff hanger. Stay tuned for parts 2 and 3.

The kiddo and I have joked about writing a book. Just in case we do, © MG and SJ

 © by scj

In Which I Mention a Fantastical Creature

Hay Caramba.  It has been muy dificil to sit down and write my weekly 'Monday' blog. This has been a theme lately.

Today, I think my problem is writer's brain. I've been writing all weekend, working toward a couple of rapidly approaching deadlines. Which is to say I've been staring at my computer, pacing to and fro, and gazing out the window for days.  Fortunately I managed to get a really bad first draft on paper, too.

Writing, for me, is an idea generator.  After a particularly good session of staring, pacing, and gazing, ideas start ricocheting through my brain like elves in a bounce house.

This is not nearly as fun as it sounds, because by the time I'm done with my writing task I've reached my weekly word quota and I can't put any more of my noisy, flailing ideas to paper.

Bounce on, little elves; bounce on.

Teaching does the same thing: it provokes thought, but drains my words.  This is probably why I am known to stop lecturing in the middle of an impassioned sentence, my arms in the air, my face flushed, my eyes utterly blank, and my tongue totally tied.

 Come to think of it, walking tends to do this to me, too.  And eating.  And reading.  And sitting.

So if you shout 'hello!' to me on the street and I respond by walking mutely past you with glazed eyes and no signs of recognition, you know why.

Blame it on the elves.

Sometimes, though, something happens that brings my thoughts to a screeching halt. Elves freeze mid-flip and mid-yelp so that another fantastical creature can walk to the center of the bounce house and make an important announcement.

This is what happened yesterday when one of my students sneezed.

These sorts of earth-shattering occurrences are usually what trigger my epiphanies.

It wasn't a particularly grandiose sneeze, I'll admit.  I've heard better.  But it sure got my attention, because, although I was in the middle of explaining a writing workshop, I was overcome with the impulse to stop everything so I could bless him.

It was a strong urge.  Almost a temptation-like urge. An elf-freezing urge.

This is an interesting cultural phenomenon.

Someone publicly discharges the dust and mucous in their sinus passage, and what do we do?  We bless them.

This 'wishing well' is so important to us that we teach our young to do it.

We emphasize its importance in our school curriculums.

We clap and cheer when our toddlers say 'bwess you' for the first time.

We do everything we can to make sure that for the rest of their lives their brains will hear a sneeze and stop.everything. to wish the sneezer well.

I like this.

I think it's marvelous that we can train our brains to make blessing someone's involuntary 'discharging' so instinctual.

This has me wondering: what would it take to develop other sneeze/blessing-esque brain pathways, so that our positive responses to people became instinctive—not robotic (because our soul gets to choose what it will do with our brain's recommendations), but natural?

Like what if every time I saw a human face my brain sent me a strong signal to treat that person like they were my long lost friend from camp?

Or what if every time my brain heard someone offer up a personal idea or observation it instructed me to praise their creativity and originality?

Or what if every time country music came on in a public setting my brain commanded me to line dance, right then and there?

The world would be a much better place.

Our lives would be richer.

Our souls sturdier.

This brings me to the part of this blog where I tell you I don't really have anything more to say about this.  No conclusions, no helpful ideas.  I'm still waiting for that fantastical creature in the middle of the bounce house surrounded by frozen elves to tell me something important, something life-changing I can latch onto.  But I think the fantastical creature is a purple, musical sloth.  She is quietly humming to herself while she creeps sloooowly to 'center stage.'  So I'll end with this: I'm not sure how to create these positive impulses—to train my brain to instinctually affirm and dignify—besides lots and lots of practice.  But I'd like to create them.

I'd really, really like to.


© by scj

20 Things I Learned Teaching Third Grade

A few weeks ago I filed the last of my students' report cards, piled boxes of picture books and math games into my trunk, cleaned out my work mailbox, and hugged my coworkers goodbye one last time.

Having wrapped up my career as a third grade teacher, I've recently done some reflecting and thanking God for all of the things He and my 75 little people taught me the last three years. Here are the 20 most significant:

1. The Holy Spirit is the best teacher.

2. Kids know when you really like them.

3. If a teacher believes her students can do something exceptional, they will. Kids live up (or down) to the image you project onto them.

4. Kids learn more from watching a teacher model something than they do from the teacher's direct instruction about the subject.

5. "Aha!" moments happen when teachers ask questions instead of give answers.

6. One of the most important parts of a teacher's job is encouraging and re-teaching kids to imagine.

7. The spontaneous, daily teachable moments stick with kids way longer than planned lessons. It's OK to set the curriculum aside to live life with your kids.

8. If you catch a kid picking his nose, pretend you didn't see it.

9. Students who read a lot typically have bigger vocabularies and are better writers than kids who don't read much.

10. It is impossible to raise healthy, stable kids without creating and consistently reinforcing boundaries.

11. Students feel the safest and are the most motivated when their environment is very structured, and their authorities are consistent and fair.

12. It's always a wise idea to have a stash of chocolate on hand for those 7-hour days that take 14 hours to pass. :)

13. A good sense of humor is incomparably more valuable in the classroom than any educational training. And kids like to laugh with their teacher. A lot.

14. If you compliment a student publicly on his helpfulness, the rest of the class will be over-the-top helpful for the rest of the month.

15. Reality is iconoclastic. When kids begin to understand that they are loved relentlessly by the Creator of our marvelous universe, their minds become enthralled with him.

16. Poor parenting--not our educational system--is the primary reason we have so many under-performing, morally confused students.

17. A powerful way to fight our culture that devalues human life is to cultivate a culture in the classroom that celebrates life.

18. Nothing shreds a kid's soul like divorce. Nothing.

19. Kids are the best philosophers, theologians, and apologists. They haven't yet been conditioned to not think critically (because our educational system is dulling their minds); they ask probing questions and have sound logic. Never underestimate the cognitive abilities of an eight year old!

20. The goal of education is human flourishing, and the Bible is the only inerrant, infallible, tested and true handbook for successfully accomplishing this goal.

Thanks, kiddos, for three very rich years of growth and memories. I will miss you.
~Miss Jackson

© by scj

Could I Just See the Top of the Box, Please?!

I just jumped through educational hoop #86 (of about 121) bringing me one step closer to clearing my teaching credential, which will enable me to teach in California for my whole life, no strings attached (except for my annual monetary "support" of our fine department of credentialing). Hoop #86 is really a series of little hoops arranged throughout a full day of professional development with other educators from the surrounding districts.

First thing this morning one of the "Facilitators of Professional Development" brought us to the first page of our educator's resource packet: "Effectively Implementing Teaching Strategies," which had a list of characteristics of good teaching. Smack dab in the middle of the page it read "No wrong answers."

Now I wish I could assure you that "No wrong answers" was a short-hand way of writing, "If the students aren't spouting a stream of wrong answers then you're probably doing a good job teaching," but I can't. Because the facilitator made it quite clear that a good teacher tells students that there are never any wrong answers. Unless of course you're teaching math, because some committee of big-wigs somewhere decided that the laws of logic apply in math, and math only.

The sole purpose of education is to promote human flourishing. I don't know many people who would disagree with this; everyone seems to understand there is more to life than survival of the fittest--we all crave something more than just existence. The problem is an educational committee somewhere decided that the only right thing to teach our students is that there is no right, and certainly no wrong, because morality (and ultimately, reality) is relative to the individual. So the state tells educators to teach students that there is no objective system of morality--there is no "right" or "good" way of living because human flourishing looks different for different people. And then the state mandates that we teach students that it is "good" to cooperate and share with others, manage and express emotions "appropriately", and that students can promote human flourishing by doing "good" things like showing consideration and concern for others, and being emotionally and mentally healthy. Students who do "wrong" things like cheat, fight, steal, and lie are punished and sometimes kicked out of the system, because their "bad" behavior might somehow disrupt the established system of standards within the school. In essence, we tell students there are no true, moral standards for living, and then force them to abide by our moral standards. And we wonder why 1 in 5 students drops out of high school, the students that stay in school are morally confused, and our nation is littered with communities that are far from flourishing.

When I was in high school I noticed a sign outside one of the main school entrances that read, "No drugs, alcohol, or weapons allowed on the premises." Armed security guards stood by the school entrances during school hours, and parents who wanted to come on campus had to beg, plead, fall on bended knee, fill out stacks of paperwork, and hand over their retirement to get clearance to visit their kid during lunch. My school made it clear they were going to do everything in their power to protect us. But if you were to spend a few days in the classrooms you would see movies with explicitly vulgar material, read books with inappropriate sexual content, and listen to teachers share raunchy stories about their weekend escapades. You'd also hear teachers espousing the potential their students have for increasing economic capital by contributing positively to the work force: students must do well in school so they can get a good job, so they can earn a lot of money. End of story. You may also hear students talking about other high schools that pay their students to graduate, teaching students that the reward for learning is not developing character, work ethic, integrity, or even the learning itself, but is the money you may get from somebody on the outside.

It didn't take me long to catch on that my high school viewed me as merely a body to protect, that my shell was worth protecting because it housed and was mysteriously related to my mind, and that my mind didn't need to be protected from filth and vulgarity, but needed to at least learn its potential for generating me and my country a lot of money. My school (and all state schools) reduced my humanity to a body with a money-making mind. That's it. Money and health were their key to human flourishing.[1]

It's no wonder our educational system is so ineffective: we tell kids there's no such thing as truth, there's no "good" and "bad", and then we reward them for being good and discipline them for being bad. We teach kids that they have a pretty terrific potential net worth, make sure they understand how "bad" drugs and alcohol are, and then pat them on the back and shoo them into the real world, calling after them, "Live fully and flourish, young person!" This is the philosophy that informs their living. This is the foundation upon which they build their lives.

We're not teaching kids how to be appropriately human. We're creating artifacts. We are carving, chipping, and shoving students' souls into a cookie cutter that some committee somewhere decided would shape our kids into a "good" product that our society can view, evaluate, and shuffle into the cycle of earning, spending, and earning some more money. Our goal of human flourishing is completely dependent on the biases of a far-off committee (sound tyrannical?), rather than being grounded in true reality.[2]

The final activity for my professional development day was to work in a group to put together a jigsaw puzzle using solid blue and yellow paper puzzle pieces with crudely cut edges. Each piece had an educational goal or teaching standard printed on it, with a specific strategy for accomplishing that goal. The finished puzzle was supposed to be the big picture of successful education. None of the six groups of teachers could finish the puzzle. One girl jokingly asked the facilitator, "Can we look at the puzzle box top?" I think she's onto something.

Educators are trying to fit together puzzle pieces to create a picture of human flourishing that informs the way we teach. But it's a daunting task and most of us aren't looking at the top of the puzzle box--we have no idea what human flourishing should look like. I think that's where the truth of God's word comes in: it's the top of the puzzle box. It paints a picture of the reality that humans are inherently valuable because we are created in the image of God with the ability to think, reason, imagine, and love. It describes the reality of the human condition, of God's involvement in history, and of the Truth that sets people free. It describes the abundant life that we receive when we place our faith in Christ, the life that renews our minds in knowledge, makes our hearts increasingly others-centered, gives eternal value to our bodies, and makes our learning purposeful and significant. It shows us how to live fully and flourish, the way God wants. It's the simplest solution, really: a look at the top of the puzzle box is exactly what educators need.

[1] One of my third grade teaching standards is to make students aware of their potential net worth. There are no third grade teaching standards about developing character and maintaining values. There can't be, because the state doesn't believe in an objective (and therefore universally teachable) system of values to promote character.

[2] C.S. Lewis develops this idea in his book The Abolition of Man.