Matthew Dicks's Blog, page 588

Near death is a gift, if you survive of course.

Job's third story is the one that means the most to me.  And he's right. 

It is the way in which I live my life. 

Sadly, I become more and more convinced that it is only by facing near death that this lesson can truly be learned.

To quote Jim Mora, "You think you know, but you just don't know."  

Hazel is an unrealistic nonconformist

The protagonist of WATERSHIP DOWN is a rabbit named Hazel.  Undersized and lacking in strength and speed, he nevertheless leads the rabbits from the doomed Sandleford warren to safety and a new life, eventually becoming Chief Rabbit.

Under his leadership, the rabbits who escape Sandleford go on to do amazing things.   

How does Hazel accomplish this?

Through nonconformity. 

At every turn, Hazel chooses the nonconformist path, and in the beginning of the novel, he is repeatedly questioned for these unorthodox decisions.

"This is not what rabbits do," is the constant refrain from his comrades. 

They are right.  In order to survive and thrive, Hazel is willing to look beyond the confines of traditional rabbit culture and tradition and suggest the unthinkable and unknowable. 

Again and again, Hazel is proven right.

Despite my affinity for Hazel's nonconformity, I found the character to be unrealistic in that by the halfway point of the book, his rabbit brethren have grown to trust Hazel so much that they no longer question his nonconformist positions.  Bigwig, one of the largest rabbits both in size and personality, openly states that he does not understand or agree with Hazel's thinking but nevertheless obeys him without question because he has proven himself again and again. 

This would never happen in the real world. 

In the real world, a nonconformist must struggle at every twist and turn, regardless of his track record.  Human beings (and rabbits) inherently embrace tradition and find comfort in the norm, even when the norm is utterly illogical, meaningless and lacking any empirical basis. 

They are rarely inclined to question methods and beliefs that have been ingrained in them since childhood. 

Even when a nonconformist convinces a person or group of people to try something new and divergent, and even when this accepted change results in great success and personal fulfillment, this does not mean that the path of nonconformity is suddenly open to them.

In the end, most human beings will return to the comfort of tradition whenever possible. 

Each instance of divergent thinking and action must be bitterly fought over.

For the nonconformist, instituting change is a never-ending struggle.     

Sadly, there are no Bigwigs in the world. 

Your title sucks, and your ideas about food are sexist and condescending

My wife came home with this book today:

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THE SNEAKY CHEF: HOW TO CHEAT ON YOUR MAN (IN THE KITCHEN!): HIDING HEALTHY FOODS IN HEARTY MEALS ANY GUY WILL LOVE

Forget the fact that the title includes two colons, one set of parenthesis, an exclamation point and 22 words.

Doesn't this book strike you as a little sexist?

It assumes that the woman in the relationship will be the designated chef while simultaneously denigrating the nutritional choices of men and implying that deceit is necessary in order to get them to eat well.

I don't like it. 

I already spent an entire childhood dodging my mother's ham-handed attempts at slipping vegetables into the mashed potatoes.

I don't need Missy Chase Lapine making adulthood just as annoying. 

Clothing adds at least five pounds.

I found this in my closet this morning.

Apparently my daughter is bestowing concerns about weight and body mass index upon her toys. 

She's growing up so fast.

 

Tilly and the Wall: Who needs a drummer when you have tap shoes?

I often claim (with excessive pride) that I have introduced my wife to more positive things in her life than she has introduced to me.

Television shows, friends, activities, locales.

I argue that she is and will forever be deeply indebted to me in this regard, even though she thinks the whole argument is stupid and petty. 

She's probably right, but I'm working on a post of our competing lists anyway. 

But credit Elysha for introducing me to Tilly and the Wall, an amazing indie band that uses a tap dancer in lieu of a drummer. 

Their music is great, the use of the tap dancer is innovative as hell, and in watching their YouTube videos, it's clear that they are charismatic performers. 

Elysha admits to having a girl crush on the tap dancer, and I don't blame her.  

She's known about this band for a while, leaving me to wonder if there is more that she should be introducing me to and if she is simply holding back on me.

I've listened to about a dozen of Tilly and the Wall's songs so far, and this one is my favorite.

Ready for fifth grade

My wife and my daughter were in the car behind a motorcycle rider without a helmet.  My wife was explaining to Clara how dangerous it is to ride on a motorcycle without a helmet and how easily a person could get hurt. 

After listening to my wife's explanation, Clara said, "Just like Jack fell down and broke his crown?"

In the teaching world, that is known as a text-to-self connection. 

It's something I struggle every year to get my fifth graders to make on a consistent basis.

Now my two-year old has managed a simple, albeit completely valid, text-to-self-connection. 

I can't wait to tell my students that they are now competing against a two-year old. 

Extreme teaching

An article in the Wall Street Journal entitled School Reform, Chicago Style described a school district's policy of providing habitually tardy and absentee students with a wake-up call each morning.

The system has actually led to a significant increase in on-time attendance.

While one might argue the merits of such a program, this type of unusual solution is not new in the educational community.  Speak to any teacher who has been on the job for long enough and you will find similar stories of extreme teaching. 

When it comes to getting kids to learn, teachers are willing to try almost anything.

One story of extreme teaching from my career:

About ten years ago, I learned that one of my struggling students had a television and three different videogame systems in his bedroom. He was not completing homework, was never well rested, was struggling with obesity and was living with a grandmother who only spoke Spanish and was working two jobs in order to make ends meet. 

He basically spent his afternoons and evenings indoors, unmonitored, playing videogames and ignoring his schoolwork. 

I told the boy that if his effort and work did not improve immediately, I was going to take action. 

A month later, after he failed to heed my warning, I did just that. 

One day after school, I arrived at the boy's apartment unannounced, carrying a desk, a chair, a pile of pencils and a stack of paper.  Accompanying me was the school's social worker. 

The boy's grandmother invited us into the home, and while the social worker remained with the grandmother in the living room, discussing the trouble that her grandson was having in school, I went to his bedroom and installed the desk and chair in one corner of the room.  I explained that this is where he was to do his homework and that if he needed more supplies, he only needed to ask. 

Then I removed the power cords from the three videogame systems and stuffed them into my pocket.

Within fifteen minutes, we had left the apartment, and the boy's three videogame system were no longer functional.

I locked the cords in a file cabinet in my classroom and informed the boy that he could get them back once his effort and work improved. 

About two months later, after his consecutive homework streak had hit fifteen days,  I returned one of the cords.  He received the final two on the last day of school.  

Did this make an enormous difference in this boy's life?

Probably not.  He worked harder and learned more as a result of my actions, but I can't really say that he turned a corner. 

But my actions let him know two important things:

1.  Teachers care deeply about their students' wellbeing.

2.  Teachers are capable of extreme measures when it comes to helping their students learn. 

That's a start.

Kissing tiny feet

Each night, as she listens to my wife read to her, I lift my daughter's tiny feet from my wife's lap and kiss them.  She smiles at me.  Sometimes she laughs.  Sometimes she giggles.  Then her eyes return to the book.     

I do this because I know there will come a day when I can no longer kiss my daughter's little feet, and when that day comes, I do not want to regret not having done so enough. 

I think this way a lot in terms of Clara, grabbing every moment that I can, soaking it in and cherishing it as much as possible, knowing that with every day comes new experiences and newfound joys but also fewer and fewer of the old ones.

 

Everything dies. I get it.

The relatively young, previously healthy tree in my front yard appears to be dying for no discernible reason while the identical tree about twenty feet to the left is perfectly healthy.

I think about death enough already.

I really don't need this constant reminder of my mortality staring me in the face every time I leave the house.  

Dont trust a good name when it seems too good

I distrust convenient names. 

For example, does anyone else find it a little too convenient that the fastest man in the world is named Usain Bolt? 

Bolt?

C'mon.  Doesn't this just scream of a track and field conspiracy?

I used to feel the same way about Joe Montana, one of the greatest quarterbacks to ever play football. 

Joe Montana?  Has there ever been a better name for a quarterback in the history of the world? 

And he just so happens to win three Super Bowls?

A little too convenient for me. 

And why don't quarterbacks ever have named like Ned Flendersheld or Eugene Muntz? 

Again, conspiracy.

I also distrust alliterative names that people assign to concepts or ideas.  For example, I was recently reading that school curriculum must be "rigorous and relevant."

Sure.  Sounds about right. 

But I'm left wondering what words not beginning with the letter R were left out for the sake of alliteration.

Scaffolded?  Sequential?  Prioritized?  Aligned with assessment?   

These words and phrases are often used to describe the characteristics of effective curriculum today, but none of them conveniently begin with the letter R. 

Were they left out because they are significantly less important than "rigorous and relevant" or were they simply not alliterative?