Matthew Dicks's Blog, page 72

Scholastic’s decision is necessary but awful

Scholastic announced that its elementary-school book fairs will now have a separate section for titles that deal with race, gender, and sexuality — a response to dozens of state laws that restrict how those subjects are discussed in schools.

This will allow schools to include — or exclude — these books from their school book fair.

Let’s be abundantly clear about this need for this differentiation in their books:

It results from racists and bigots making the laws in these states.

This separate catalog of 64 titles includes a children’s biography of Supreme Court Justice Ketanji Brown Jackson, a fantasy novel about a Lakota girl, and a book about different family types, such as adoptive families and families with same-sex parents.

Some contain basic history, such as “I Am Ruby Bridges,” about school integration, and “Because of You, John Lewis,” about the civil rights leader’s role in the 1965 march from Selma to Montgomery, Alabama.

These are not firebrand titles, conspiracy theories, oversexualized stories, or calls for reparations. These are books about a sitting Supreme Court justice, an indigenous girl, uncontested history about American heroes, and the realities of family life in America.

Only a racist would oppose a book about Ketanji Brown Jackson or Ruby Bridges.

Only a bigot would oppose a book that acknowledges the reality of same-sex parents.

I’m not thrilled with Scholastic’s decision to make these titles optional for schools, but I also understand that state laws may require this separation to bring books to children and much-need fundraising to schools.

But it’s awful. Racist and bigoted and disgusting.

Gratitude and golf

Ever since the school year began in late August, I have spent most of my mornings playing golf before heading off to work. I’m lucky enough to have an executive course about five minutes from my school, where I can play nine holes in about an hour if I move quickly and keep most of my shots on the fairway.

These days, I arrive around 6:45, when it’s admittedly a little dark, but by the time I walk off the course about an hour later, the sun has risen, the fog has burned off, and the day has begun.

It’s an incredible way to begin the day. I strap the golf bag to my back and strive for excellence while simultaneously exercising, spending time in nature, and basking in the beauty of an autumn morning. I’ve borne witness to the changing of the season, day by day, tree by tree. I’ve seen deer, coyotes, and foxes. The same hawk soars over my head every morning. Yesterday, an egret flew about ten feet over my head as I lined up a shot, startling me before I caught a glimpse of its beauty.

I say hello to the parents of a former student who walk their dog daily. I chat with a yoga practitioner who sometimes uses a fairway to stretch and pose. Occasionally play with a fellow early riser. And when I return to the parking lot, I almost always spend a moment talking with two older men who are just preparing to head out as I change shoes for work.

I cannot describe how happy and fulfilled I feel when I walk into my school every day half an hour before the bell.

I’ll be sad when it gets too dark or cold to continue this routine.

But almost every time I play golf, including these early mornings spent playing alone, I think about my friend Tom, who ignored my disparaging remarks about the game 18 years ago and convinced me to play. He found a set of irons at a yard sale, purchased them for $10. and tossed them into the back of my truck on a snowy December afternoon, tied together by a red ribbon.

Upon finding them, I called Tom and asked, “Did you put golf clubs in my truck?”

“I don’t know?” he said. “Did I?”

I hung up on him and called my friend, Jeff. “Did you throw golf clubs into my truck?” I asked.

Without coordinating with Tom, he said, “I don’t know. Did I?”

Jerks.

But not entirely so, because that set of irons, along with a putter I purchased for $1, were my ticket to nearly two decades of memories, hilarity, and joy. I am constantly consumed with gratitude for Tom’s willingness to turn my stubbornness and stupidity into obsession and love.

I can’t image the last two decades without golf.

The one billion memories I’ve made on the golf course. The friends with whom I’ve spent countless hours talking, laughing, and competing. The locations around the world where I have played the game alongside some of my closest buddies. The deep and meaningful conversations I’ve shared with friends as we’ve walked the fairways. The stupid jokes. The ridiculous pranks. The errant shots. The blessed routines. That bird I once killed midflight with a tee shot. The occasional moments of glory.

All thanks to Tom, who opened a door and invited me to walk through.

I’ve also used that first set of irons to hook three other people on golf, passing along the gift Tom gave me years ago. All three love the game today, and I still play with them often.

Those clubs are currently in the hands of a new person I hope to hook soon.

Almost every time I play golf, I feel immense gratitude to Tom for this gift – one of the best ever given to me.

How often does someone offer you a gift that changes your life for the better in such a profound way?

On these blessed early morning rounds, playing as the sun rises and the dew sparkles off the grass, he is in my thoughts more than ever.

I’ll take the teacher with the unconventional, hardscrabble life

In a recent interview, I was asked, “If you could choose anyone to teach your own children, what kind of person would you want?”

I love questions I have never been asked before. Even so, my answer was almost instantaneous:

Give me a teacher who didn’t start out as a teacher. Give me a teacher with a diverse collection of life experiences outside of education and a healthy dose of struggle and suffering.

If I were allowed to choose, give me a teacher who has dug ditches in Nicaragua, survived an encounter with a grizzly bear, panhandled across Europe, or spent ten years working in the private sector over a teacher who went from high school to college to graduate school to the classroom, absent any catastrophe, epic struggle, or life-altering cataclysm.

This is not to say that the traditional path to teaching produces bad teachers. I know many outstanding teachers who have followed this conventional approach. I would place my own children in their classes any day.

I simply place more faith in a diversity of life experiences and the perspective it brings than I do in a stable life and a college education.

Mark Twain famously said, “I never let school interfere with my education.”

Some of the very best teachers I have ever known came to teaching from the most unorthodox and challenging routes imaginable. People who grew up poor. Owned small businesses. Operated heavy machinery. Served in the military. Worked as a bartender, a landscaper, and a cab driver for years. Volunteered in NGOs. Climbed the corporate ladder.

These teachers are often confident enough to take enormous risks and constantly ask for help.

These teachers can often distinguish between what is essential to learning and meaningless fluff.

These are often the teachers who know which corners can be cut and which are critical to the success of their students.

These teachers often demand great things from their students and know how to shut their mouths and get out of the way to allow those students to exceed expectations.

These teachers tend to be unflappable, remarkably resilient, highly efficient, supremely independent, and beloved by their students.

In the words of one of my fictional characters, these are the teachers who teach school rather than play school.

The path from high school to college to graduate school can produce a great teacher. I know and have known many of them. But if I had to choose my children’s teacher, I would seek out a diversity of experiences, a broad and varied perspective of the world, and a life of epic struggle, cataclysmic failure, and modest success.

When choosing a teacher for my own children, I would seek out these qualities over advanced degrees in education from the finest universities every day.

Raven

I adore group descriptors — a murder of crows, a pride of lions, a crash of rhinos.

I’ve also proposed a few of my own, including:

A gamble of poker players

A concern of mothers

A fumble of left-handers

A fistful of bullies

An argument of attorneys

A frustration of golfers

I love them all, too.

Recently, I became aware of a group descriptor that I adore:

An unkindness of ravens, sometimes referred to as a conspiracy of ravens.

The most famous conspiracy of ravens was decreed by King Charles II (in an act of superstition) to be kept in the employ of the Tower of London “now and forever more.” And they have. The current raven roster at the Tower consists of six ravens and their understudies:

Gwylum, Thor, Hugin, Munin, Branwen, Bran, Gundulf, Baldrick, Fleur, and Colin.

Then there’s Poe’s The Raven, which I always read to my students (along with The Telltale Heart) on Halloween.

Did you know that The Raven was inspired by Charles Dickens’ 1841 novel, Barnaby Rudge, a story about the anti-Catholic riots in London in 1780? The protagonist, Barnaby, owns a pet raven, Grip, which can speak, and in the fifth chapter of the novel, Grip taps at a shutter (as does the raven in Poe’s poem).

The model for Grip was Dickens’ own talking raven, which was the delight of his children for years.

Quite an important raven. Maybe the most important raven that has ever lived. It ultimately inspired a poem and a novel by two of the world’s best-known writers.

In seeking out a copy of The Raven online, I stumbled upon an annotated copy of the poem, which I found extremely amusing. Many of the annotations are so obvious and unnecessary that I can’t help but wonder if the annotator, Michael Cummings, was trying to make me feel as if he was bludgeoning me with a literary sledgehammer.

If so, he succeeded.

But he also provided me with some genuine chuckles, and so for that, I am appreciative.

Sprezzatura

A friend of mine introduced me to a new word today:

Sprezzatura

I explained to her how I have always treated my post-high school education like a competition—all my classmates versus me in a battle to determine who was best.

Receiving an exceptional grade was great, but knowing I was on top was even better.

As such, I routinely found ways to demoralize my classmates while trying to climb to the top:

Finishing tests as quickly as possible.Casually displaying high marks for my classmates to see.Making it appear as if completing a tough homework assignment was an afterthought.Preparing two or three insightful comments before class, usually based upon research in an area that appealed to the professor.

In one psychology class, I purposely piled my desk with objects so that when I finished the test, I could make as much noise as possible while gathering my things to alert my classmates that I was done.

This particular professor always opted for a multiple choice exam – a format in which I have always excelled both in score and speed – so I knew that I would likely finish the test before any of my classmates.

The opportunity to make a scene was probable.

In short, I was a jerk.

And so, to describe my attitude, my friend gave me sprezzatura:

“A certain nonchalance, so as to conceal all art and make whatever one does or says appear to be without effort and almost without any thought about it.”

I love this word. I love how much honesty and nuance it captures.

My friend also asked if I thought the desire to defeat my classmates in these petulant mind games represented a healthy lifestyle.

It wasn’t healthy in the way broccoli is a supposedly healthy food, but I don’t think it was an unhealthy way to live, either. And it kept me endlessly entertained throughout my college years, which was important.

But it certainly wasn’t kind.

I also did quite well in college and achieved my lifelong dream of becoming a teacher, an author, and a performer. I’m not implying that my attempt to demoralize my classmates had anything to do with my success, but who knows?

Jeni said yes.

I’m a big fan of saying yes.

Whenever an opportunity presents itself, as odd, frightening, or difficult as it may seem, say yes. Walk through that door without hesitation.

A yes can eventually become a no if what you find behind that door isn’t for you, but we must constantly seek to expand and grow our lives.

Stagnation is death.

A yes guarantees that expansion.

One of the more recent impressive examples of this philosophy is Jeni Bonaldo’s willingness to perform alongside me in the upcoming  “Matt and Jeni Are Unprepared” – a storytelling improv show in which she and I will tell brand new stories on the spot based solely on random prompts supplied by audience members, the internet, and each other.

This is a hell of a yes.

First, it’s not an easy job. Public speaking is cited as people’s greatest fear, often behind “death” on the list of fears. Standing before strangers with the expectation that you will speak coherently for an hour would be terrifying to most people.

Adding to this challenge is the obligation to be entertaining makes it even more difficult. Telling an entertaining, meaningful, true story about your life based upon a randomly supplied prompt with no preparation whatsoever is a ridiculous expectation. Include a theater filled with audience members who paid to be entertained, and it quickly becomes something most people think impossible.

Most storytellers, comedians, and public speakers are nervous about performing after weeks and even months of preparation. Jeni and I will have about 60 seconds to think before speaking.

She’s also agreed to participate in this crazy highwire act alongside me:

A storyteller who has won 59 Moth StorySLAMs in a little more than 100 attempts and a record nine-time Moth GrandSLAM championships. I’m someone who performs throughout the country regularly and has been doing this kind of improv for years in my solo shows.

Excuse the hubris, but I’m far more experienced than Jeni. I’ve stood on hundreds of stages all over the world and performed alongside some of the best storytellers on the planet. I’m disgustingly, supremely confident. Performing in this improv format is hard enough. Agreeing to do it alongside someone like me is, in the words of one person, “crazy town.”

But here’s the thing about Jeni:

I can count the number of storytellers who I would trust to perform alongside me in this format on one hand. Jeni would occupy two of those fingers, and she would always be my first choice.I knew that Jeni would say yes when I asked because she has that same fire in her belly as me. She is willing to walk that tightrope because she, too, knows how saying yes can change your life for the better.Jeni’s stories will be at least as good as mine because she is a world-class storyteller, and the audience will likely adore her far more than they adore me, which will be very annoying for me.I suspect that Jeni will serve as an inspiration for many in the audience. While I only feel excitement about this upcoming show, Jeni is nervous – perhaps even a little frightened – and justifiably so. But it’s the intersection between fear and action where courage exists, and Jeni’s courage will be on full display that night. It does not require courage from me to perform. I am a monster who never feels nervous before, during, or after a performance. But Jeni will undoubtedly feel nervous, as would most performers, so her willingness to say yes will inspire me and many audience members, I suspect.As much as Jeni and I love each other, we are also delightfully competitive and more than willing to verbally stab at each other. Years ago, while teaching a weeklong workshop together at a yoga retreat center, our students became concerned that we were angry with each other after watching us snipe back and forth during breaks. We weren’t, of course. We were just being us. I think that dynamic will make for a great show. Jeni can give it just as well as she can take it.

I feel supremely fortunate to have Jeni as a friend. I stumbled upon her years ago while speaking at the school where she teaches, and my life has been better ever since.

I’m sure it will be a fun night of storytelling for us and an entertaining night for the audience.

How lucky we all are for Jeni’s willingness to say yes.

The show is nearly sold out, so if you want tickets, don’t delay. Click here.

My book nerd

My daughter reads more often than any person I have ever known.

It’s astounding. Imagine someone reading as much as you could possibly imagine. Clara reads more than that. I promise you.

She likes to credit her love for reading to me and Elysha, who read to her every night of her life for the first eight years of her life, but I suspect that she simply loves stories.

Recently, we were in Target, looking to replace a pair of her headphones. While we waited for an employee to open the headphone case, she wandered into the main aisle.

“Wait,” I said. “You need to pick a color.”

She came back and identified her preference. Then she wandered back into the main aisle and turned left.

“What are you doing?” I shouted. “Come back!”

She popped back around the corner, smiling sheepishly.

“What are you doing?” I asked, but then it hit me. She was trying to sneak away to the book section.

“I just bought you a pile of books two days ago,” I said. “Why do you need more?”

“Books never abandon me,” she said.

It’s annoying when you’re a father, an elementary school teacher, and an author, and you’re forced to tell your daughter to stop buying books or put the book down or stop reading for five seconds and talk to me.

On the way to the mall yesterday, Clara added, “Most people are Forever 21. I’m Forever Bookstore.”

Admittedly, it’s a pretty good problem to have.

“Twenty-one Truths About Love” – Taiwan edition

Behold! The Taiwanese cover for “Twenty-one Truths About Love.” Similar in style and imagery to the US edition, but it’s always interesting to see how a publisher a world away interprets my work.

Sometimes I like the US cover better, and sometimes, I like the cover of an international version much better.

In this case, the two are so similar that it’s a tie.

Driving and swimming. Do it.

I met someone earlier this year who does not know how to drive or swim.

“I live in New York City,” she said. “I don’t need to do either.”

She is free to live her life in any way she sees fit, but I am of the opinion that regardless of your geographic position, you should learn to drive a car and swim. Both strike me as prerequisites to being an adult, akin to learning to use a spoon and tie your shoes. The inability to do either is ridiculous and will likely create problems, or worse, lost opportunities in the future.

Both also strike me as exceptionally limiting in nature.

Even if you live in New York City and have access to public transportation at all times, what happens when you leave the city? You want to see the Grand Canyon, so you take public transportation to JFK Airport and fly to Colorado, but then what?

Take a bus to the Grand Canyon? Hail an Uber?

There will be times when driving will be necessary if you want to move around in this world. You can either constantly depend on the kindness of friends and family, or you can learn a skill that isn’t all that hard to master.

“I live in New York City. I don’t need to do either,” is also a ridiculous statement made by someone who can’t see past their nose and imagine a life unlike the one they are currently living.

Yes, it’s true. She may live in New York City for the rest of her life, but how many of us have thought something certain and immutable about our lives only to discover things have entirely changed just a few years later? The assumption that you will want or be able to live in one place for your entire existence is also ridiculous. The future is unknown, and our expectations for the next five, ten, or twenty years are rarely realized.

Learn to drive because life is unknowable.

Learn to drive, even if you can reliably depend on public transportation, because you just never know when you won’t be able to anymore.

And learn to swim, too, because drowning sucks.

Also, spending your entire life avoiding rivers, lakes, oceans, pools, and maybe even boats is just silly. Like driving, swimming is a skill that isn’t difficult to master, and learning to do so opens up a world of opportunity and a lifetime of increased safety.

Driving and swimming:

Prerequisites for living a fruitful life, I think.

Richard Feynman on good teaching

Students don’t need a perfect teacher. They need a happy teacher who’s going to make them excited to come to school and grow a love for learning. – Richard Feynman

I could not agree more.

Every year, content becomes less and less important as its availability becomes increasingly ubiquitous. When human beings have the tools to learn almost anything on their own, the “what” becomes decidedly less critical in comparison to the “how” and the “why.”

As a result, today’s children have far more important and perhaps better things to learn. Things like:

Developing a lifelong love for learning

Acquiring organizational skills

Learning to collaborate, cooperate, mediate, and negotiate

Gaining a productive balance of self-confidence and humility

Knowing how to study, manage time, eliminate distractions, persevere through struggle, and work hard

Understanding the importance and value of kindness, empathy, sensitivity, and acceptance

Learning to delay gratification

These and others are the skills children need to learn above all others. They are best learned when children are excited about coming to school and possess a relentless love for learning. They are best learned when school is optimized for engagement and fun.

Teachers, administrators, and politicians who think otherwise are making a terrible mistake.

Facts are still important. Knowledge is precious. You can’t understand the present unless you understand the past. But when so much of what you may want or need to know is almost always at your fingertips, much of that content – which is often quickly forgotten – can take a backseat to the skills required to be a successful person in a world awash with information but often absent of the ability to harness and utilize that knowledge meaningfully and productively.

The late, great Feynman understood this long before information became so accessible:

“Students don’t need a perfect teacher. They need a happy teacher who’s going to make them excited to come to school and grow a love for learning.”