"...All the cherished moments they have made possible for those they left behind... all the things that make us alive.. these are the gifts they gave us.. life... that is what our fallen have given us." The words of a uniformed speaker at the Memorial Day Ceremony at Arlington National Cemetery drift from the TV this morning.
I looked up Memorial Day, just to double check its history. I learned that the day was formally established in 1868 and originated in the practice of decorating the graves of those who died in the Civil War. It eventually became a day to remember those who had died in the "service of the nation."
By strange coincidence, this holiday originated during the Civil War, and people are still dying in a kind of civil war. Today people are dying in a civil war of poverty, of suicide from mental illness, of street violence. I don't know where his grave is, but in my heart I decorate the grave of Orlando, a young actor with mental illness who killed himself out of loneliness and depression. I decorate the grave of a gifted former student who died of kidney disease that wasn't caught in time. I decorate the graves of my students' friends and relatives who died by gun violence on the streets. I decorate the graves of the young people whose only job opportunity was the armed forces.
Here is a poem written years ago by East Oakland 7th grader Klarissa, one of my former students. Her words represent the hundreds of similar poems written by my students over the years, fitting for Memorial Day. Often the title of their poems was R.I.P.
My heart cries when
People die from cancer and other diseases
Every day
Death leaves a heartache no one can heal,
Love leaves a memory no one can steal
My heart cries when
I hear that people are getting shot and killed for no reason
Death leaves a heartache no one can heal,
Love leaves a memory no one can steal
My heart cries when
I hear that the economy is in danger
People losing their homes and lives because of the economy
Death leaves a heartache no one can heal,
Love leaves a memory no one can steal
Monday, May 30, 2011
Wednesday, May 25, 2011
Substitute Teaching 2
I wrote a month or so ago about subbing in Oakland public schools. It's difficult; like being a stepmother in a blended family. The students want their "real" teacher, not a "guest." At the same time, they expect the substitute to replicate exactly the style and methods of their regular teacher. An almost impossible task. I continue to search for ways that substitute teaching can offer the same satisfaction as teaching a class regularly.
Last week I subbed for a 4th grade class at Think College Now, a very nice elementary school in the Fruitvale District. It was a large class of bright, active, and talkative children. The extremely efficient regular teacher had left many work sheets and detailed plans for the day. All went well the first half of the 8:30 - 3:15 schedule. Circle discussion, silent reading, recess, conflict resolution, social studies, lunch, library, math, "fun" time. Elementary school teachers teach multiple subjects and also serve as life skills mentors.
Challenges surfaced. As the day progressed, the crowded classroom grew hotter and hotter. I opened the windows, which made no dent in the stuffy air. I turned on the large fan in the corner. However, I had to turn it off after only a few minutes. Overheated students crowded around the fan trying to catch the breeze, jostling each other and unable to do their assignments. Some of the children -- because of the heat or tired of studying - completely lost focus and gathered in groups to socialize.
For those who suffer from the character defect of pride, I highly recommend substitute teaching. A few children talked whenever they felt like it, perhaps thinking that since the Sub was not 'real,'they could act as if the Sub were invisible. About 45 minutes before the final bell, we all fell apart. A generous boy had brought small chocolate brownies to share with the class. After the first round of passing them out, the boy announced, without getting my permission: "Everybody line up if you want a second brownie." I was unable to stop the stampede that left the boy himself without a second brownie and a girl in tears.
Nevertheless, the class accomplished a surprising amount. They read many pages, in books and in their social studies magazine. They wrote 3 acrostic poems, they played several games of Four Square, checked out books at the school library, drew (art), engaged in group discussion, and addressed pressing challenges in getting along with each other. The school is clearly doing a great job; I noticed that almost all the students were really interested in the many books that were available to them - a huge accomplishment.
Last week I subbed for a 4th grade class at Think College Now, a very nice elementary school in the Fruitvale District. It was a large class of bright, active, and talkative children. The extremely efficient regular teacher had left many work sheets and detailed plans for the day. All went well the first half of the 8:30 - 3:15 schedule. Circle discussion, silent reading, recess, conflict resolution, social studies, lunch, library, math, "fun" time. Elementary school teachers teach multiple subjects and also serve as life skills mentors.
Challenges surfaced. As the day progressed, the crowded classroom grew hotter and hotter. I opened the windows, which made no dent in the stuffy air. I turned on the large fan in the corner. However, I had to turn it off after only a few minutes. Overheated students crowded around the fan trying to catch the breeze, jostling each other and unable to do their assignments. Some of the children -- because of the heat or tired of studying - completely lost focus and gathered in groups to socialize.
For those who suffer from the character defect of pride, I highly recommend substitute teaching. A few children talked whenever they felt like it, perhaps thinking that since the Sub was not 'real,'they could act as if the Sub were invisible. About 45 minutes before the final bell, we all fell apart. A generous boy had brought small chocolate brownies to share with the class. After the first round of passing them out, the boy announced, without getting my permission: "Everybody line up if you want a second brownie." I was unable to stop the stampede that left the boy himself without a second brownie and a girl in tears.
Nevertheless, the class accomplished a surprising amount. They read many pages, in books and in their social studies magazine. They wrote 3 acrostic poems, they played several games of Four Square, checked out books at the school library, drew (art), engaged in group discussion, and addressed pressing challenges in getting along with each other. The school is clearly doing a great job; I noticed that almost all the students were really interested in the many books that were available to them - a huge accomplishment.
Thursday, May 19, 2011
Appearances can deceive
"Don't judge a book by its cover" and "the clothes make the man" are old -if opposite- cliches I grew tired of hearing as a child. As an adult, I learned the importance of attraction as promotion when I collaborated on creating theatrical productions. "What should we call this show?" we would ask each other. We'd brainstorm and toss titles in the wastebasket. "Too long; one word is better. That name won't hook an audience to come. Any title could be turned into a joke or an opening for a bad critical review."
Titles are marketing, not description. We all know that the pictures on paperback covers often fail to relate to the contents. Businesses research what will attract the "target" audience. Targeting. That word suggests the shooting range, or a dartboard. Every time I click on a website, a data path is created for a business to target my interests with a related ad. It's a bulls eye of I buy.
Listening to NPR this morning, I heard the words, "sometimes a surprise discovery forms one of the better life experiences you could have." Exactly. I like the surprise of my assumptions proved wrong. For instance, I observed a woman in a class of mine who looked like a professional athlete: strong, slim, well groomed, confident. In conversation, I discovered she was recovering from surgery that removed a brain tumor and felt confused from her hearing loss. Or another woman who on the surface appeared arrogant and distant was actually suffering from years of caring for a deaf child.
Why does any of this matter? As an artist and educator, I applaud life long curiosity, life long learning, life long wonder. When I'm manipulated by marketing an judged by my age or looks or internet use, I feel robbed of individuality. Someone stole my identity and shrink wrapped it.
Titles are marketing, not description. We all know that the pictures on paperback covers often fail to relate to the contents. Businesses research what will attract the "target" audience. Targeting. That word suggests the shooting range, or a dartboard. Every time I click on a website, a data path is created for a business to target my interests with a related ad. It's a bulls eye of I buy.
Listening to NPR this morning, I heard the words, "sometimes a surprise discovery forms one of the better life experiences you could have." Exactly. I like the surprise of my assumptions proved wrong. For instance, I observed a woman in a class of mine who looked like a professional athlete: strong, slim, well groomed, confident. In conversation, I discovered she was recovering from surgery that removed a brain tumor and felt confused from her hearing loss. Or another woman who on the surface appeared arrogant and distant was actually suffering from years of caring for a deaf child.
Why does any of this matter? As an artist and educator, I applaud life long curiosity, life long learning, life long wonder. When I'm manipulated by marketing an judged by my age or looks or internet use, I feel robbed of individuality. Someone stole my identity and shrink wrapped it.
Thursday, May 12, 2011
Books for Children
See Spot run. See Jane run.
Perhaps Baby Boomers remember struggling with these dry phrases in kindergarten and first grade. Today's short attention spans might applaud these three-word sentences that fulfill the template: subject- verb -object (although the "command" verb format eliminates the understood subject,"You," as in "You see Spot run.")
I'm getting my Certificate in Writing from UC Berkeley Extension, exploring different genres to see what I might pursue in depth. My current course is called "Writing Children's Picture Books." After taking other courses that revealed gaps in my creative imagination, I thought that I might do well with the minimal number of words and pages needed for picture books. Besides, I have excellent qualifications to write for the under 8's. I love teaching pre school through grade three, I read story books every night to my children when they were little, and I have spent many years writing scripts and performing for young audiences. Picture books should be no problem. Just let the imagination roll freely, right? Wrong! Although children's books now have longer sentences, they have a template. No publisher in his or her right mind would print something that strays from what he or she thinks will sell.
"Too much dialogue; eliminate 95% of it. You've got to have your story structure laid out before you start writing. There are only three kinds of children's picture books: concept, information and a story with a message. If the baby here is asking where his breakfast is, the editors will think the mother is starving the child." Hmmm... Anyone who's ever taken an arts class is familiar with the Critique and the challenge of deciding which comments are helpful. "I like that the situation here is real, but it wouldn't appeal to kids." "What are you really trying to say here?" "I'd like to piggy-back on what she just said..."
This class suggests to me that today's adults would freak out at the old stories by the Brother's Grimm or Hans Christian Anderson or Babar, in which parents die with regularity and children face inappropriate horrors, like the original Cinderella. Perhaps because children face more information than in times past about a scary adult world, today's writers must dish up fantasy with bright colors, happy faces and reassuring informational footnotes for parents. After all, in a year or two many of the children hearing these stories will be playing video games and will have seen 'Bambi.' Parents who buy books these days want their toddlers to learn college readiness skills as soon as possible. And disobedient story book children must very clearly learn a lesson by the end, even though our culture constantly tells toddlers' older siblings that "good girls like bad boys."
It's all very confusing. I'm not sure how I feel about story templates and selling. Is this art? Can children handle art? How utilitarian should art be? However, I've also learned in the class that it's okay to mention poop in a children's book. I don't think I will.
Perhaps Baby Boomers remember struggling with these dry phrases in kindergarten and first grade. Today's short attention spans might applaud these three-word sentences that fulfill the template: subject- verb -object (although the "command" verb format eliminates the understood subject,"You," as in "You see Spot run.")
I'm getting my Certificate in Writing from UC Berkeley Extension, exploring different genres to see what I might pursue in depth. My current course is called "Writing Children's Picture Books." After taking other courses that revealed gaps in my creative imagination, I thought that I might do well with the minimal number of words and pages needed for picture books. Besides, I have excellent qualifications to write for the under 8's. I love teaching pre school through grade three, I read story books every night to my children when they were little, and I have spent many years writing scripts and performing for young audiences. Picture books should be no problem. Just let the imagination roll freely, right? Wrong! Although children's books now have longer sentences, they have a template. No publisher in his or her right mind would print something that strays from what he or she thinks will sell.
"Too much dialogue; eliminate 95% of it. You've got to have your story structure laid out before you start writing. There are only three kinds of children's picture books: concept, information and a story with a message. If the baby here is asking where his breakfast is, the editors will think the mother is starving the child." Hmmm... Anyone who's ever taken an arts class is familiar with the Critique and the challenge of deciding which comments are helpful. "I like that the situation here is real, but it wouldn't appeal to kids." "What are you really trying to say here?" "I'd like to piggy-back on what she just said..."
This class suggests to me that today's adults would freak out at the old stories by the Brother's Grimm or Hans Christian Anderson or Babar, in which parents die with regularity and children face inappropriate horrors, like the original Cinderella. Perhaps because children face more information than in times past about a scary adult world, today's writers must dish up fantasy with bright colors, happy faces and reassuring informational footnotes for parents. After all, in a year or two many of the children hearing these stories will be playing video games and will have seen 'Bambi.' Parents who buy books these days want their toddlers to learn college readiness skills as soon as possible. And disobedient story book children must very clearly learn a lesson by the end, even though our culture constantly tells toddlers' older siblings that "good girls like bad boys."
It's all very confusing. I'm not sure how I feel about story templates and selling. Is this art? Can children handle art? How utilitarian should art be? However, I've also learned in the class that it's okay to mention poop in a children's book. I don't think I will.
Tuesday, May 3, 2011
Bin Laden's Death and Ethics
This past weekend was the weekend that was: Friday, Saturday, Sunday. From pure innocent joy to the murky ethics of war. On Friday, the whole world rejoiced with the beautiful bride and handsome groom, the pageantry, the Bank Holiday for Britons, the soaring cathedral music, the two kisses. We needed a chance to celebrate, to party on.
Saturday in Oakland we basked in the warmer spring weather, the sunshine, the flowers. I saw more people strolling and window shopping on the streets than I'd seen in many weeks. Ah, the Bay Area Weather! "It's worth facing the high unemployment after all, if just for today."
Sunday was May Day, also the historical code words for "Help! Disaster," shouted on the radio in the old black and white movies by midshipmen from their leaking cubbyholes below decks. May 1st also used to feature Morris dancers with satin ribbons whirling around a Maypole. And I can't forget that May Day used to be a time for the Workers to reflect or even to organize for The Revolution.
Then Sunday night. The President makes a special announcement: Osama Bin Laden has been killed during an "action" in Abbottabad, Pakistan. Huh? I've almost forgotten about this bearded mythical media-ogre, rumored to be hiding in caves in between speeches on TV. Then the television and computer screens go berserk. The wedding parades are suddenly superseded by jubilant processions of victory dancers outside the White House, in Times Square, strangely similar to celbration after the final game of the World Series, or World Cup Soccer.
Wait a minute. We were all celebrating the Royal Wedding, examining the Dress, day dreaming about who Harry will marry. Now we're jumping up and down because someone is dead? We shot the enemy in the head and threw the body into the Arabian Ocean. Full stop. Yay hurray? Flashback: did Arab crowds cheer the exploding Twin Towers? I can't remember. Possibly, even probably. There's something chilling, something familiar, about this joyful vengeance, high five for retaliation-as-victory, the way we'd slap each other after getting a strike at the bowling alley. We explain to ourselves that killing Bin Laden was self defense, right?
But still, in my book, taking a human life is not like winning the World Series. I was brought up to believe that dancing on someone's grave was one of the worst things you could do. Perhaps Bin Laden danced on the graves of unknown numbers of Americans. Does it make it right for us to dance on Bin Laden's? Or do we then become like him?
Saturday in Oakland we basked in the warmer spring weather, the sunshine, the flowers. I saw more people strolling and window shopping on the streets than I'd seen in many weeks. Ah, the Bay Area Weather! "It's worth facing the high unemployment after all, if just for today."
Sunday was May Day, also the historical code words for "Help! Disaster," shouted on the radio in the old black and white movies by midshipmen from their leaking cubbyholes below decks. May 1st also used to feature Morris dancers with satin ribbons whirling around a Maypole. And I can't forget that May Day used to be a time for the Workers to reflect or even to organize for The Revolution.
Then Sunday night. The President makes a special announcement: Osama Bin Laden has been killed during an "action" in Abbottabad, Pakistan. Huh? I've almost forgotten about this bearded mythical media-ogre, rumored to be hiding in caves in between speeches on TV. Then the television and computer screens go berserk. The wedding parades are suddenly superseded by jubilant processions of victory dancers outside the White House, in Times Square, strangely similar to celbration after the final game of the World Series, or World Cup Soccer.
Wait a minute. We were all celebrating the Royal Wedding, examining the Dress, day dreaming about who Harry will marry. Now we're jumping up and down because someone is dead? We shot the enemy in the head and threw the body into the Arabian Ocean. Full stop. Yay hurray? Flashback: did Arab crowds cheer the exploding Twin Towers? I can't remember. Possibly, even probably. There's something chilling, something familiar, about this joyful vengeance, high five for retaliation-as-victory, the way we'd slap each other after getting a strike at the bowling alley. We explain to ourselves that killing Bin Laden was self defense, right?
But still, in my book, taking a human life is not like winning the World Series. I was brought up to believe that dancing on someone's grave was one of the worst things you could do. Perhaps Bin Laden danced on the graves of unknown numbers of Americans. Does it make it right for us to dance on Bin Laden's? Or do we then become like him?
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