Teacher and Learner

Of Legacy and Forests

noreply@blogger.com (Peter Crooke) — Wed, 18 Mar 2009 07:27:51 PDT

As a distance runner in high school, I have many fond memories of my school and athletic facilities, especially, of course, the track. When that place was the center of my life, I assumed that the school and the track would always be there. Yet, years later, my high school sold the property and moved to a new building a couple of towns west. Because of some political wrangling, and I guess for financial reasons, the old school stood for years, empty and decaying. Visiting the old school years later when I happened to be home for a visit, I discovered that there is something sad about a boarded up school that once teemed with promise of bright futures. But it was down at the track that I first started to think about the idea of legacy.

The infield of the track, which alternated as a football and soccer field when I went to the school, was completely covered with trees; a forest had reclaimed this territory! The track resembled a lost beach road, covered in sand and aimlessly winding in circles. It seemed that everything that happened there was lost. Years after that, the school property was finally sold and today is the home of a neighborhood of upscale houses. Who will remember?

Those who were impacted by being in this place.

And that’s the point of legacy. I don’t think a plaque on a wall for one’s efforts or a name on a stadium is really a legacy. I think that a true legacy is about the long lasting impact one has had on others. In recent weeks, two of our technology leaders here at Lower Merion announced their retirements. I don’t know if there will be plaques or even a retirement dinner or two, but for me, their respective legacies will be very powerful.

Ginny DiMedio, who headed our technology efforts in the district, took a department from nothing to a powerful force in our students’ lives. She is a woman who dared to enter the halls of boys who stamp their feet, and her disinterest in power made all of the boys who embraced power a little uneasy. She supported anyone who had an idea that would improve our students’ chances of becoming critical thinkers. Surprising at it might seem because everyone in education gives lip service to the idea of getting our students to think critically, few, in my experience, have the ability or even the desire to create programs that improve such; most seem content with the “data-driven” management styles that seem to keep everyone obedient and under control. Ginny the courage to be the opposite. And she was strong enough to allow other professionals to run with ideas that brought hope to students’ lives.

Bill Dolton headed the educational integration efforts in our district. Through his creativity and desire to put technology in the hands of students in a way that meant the improvement of educational programs, Bill brought a wealth of knowledge, energy, and caring to all of the students in this district. Bill created a professional development program that put into the hands of teachers the responsibility to mentor other teachers. He asked his mentor teachers to grow professionally and provided the means for that growth; then he asked those same teachers to share with other teachers and again provided the means for that to happen. It is a unique program that other districts have copied. And as Bill retires, that program has been cut in our district.

I suspect that there will be few plaques noting the contributions of two people who thought way outside the box. That forest of power will reclaim its ground as soon as possible. And just as my old school is now a tract of McMansions, their programs might or might not survive. But one thing is for sure, many professionals will never forget, and will be forever indebted, to both Ginny and Bill. Even more powerful, thousands of students, whether they know it or not, have had their lives improved because of the efforts of these two special people. And that is the truest legacy that anyone can leave.

Good luck Ginny and Bill. Even though you did not shoot for this, you have the admiration and respect of so many people. Even though the forest might reclaim some territory, what has happened in this place will continue to live and grow well into the future.

Johnny Appleseed (Day)

noreply@blogger.com (Peter Crooke) — Wed, 11 Mar 2009 04:00:47 PDT

I remember when I was in elementary school and we celebrated days like Johnny Appleseed Day. This day was, for us, a special day on which we remembered the good earth, a kind of fertility celebration. Well, today is Johnny Appleseed Day and I still think of it as a fertility celebration, although today I want to make it a political (and spiritual) point. It takes an entire nation of workers to build a country. It takes the greed of only a few to tear it down. I think it is worth remembering that as we struggle with our economy, and in many cases, struggle to support ourselves and our families.

Talking Fear with My Brothers

noreply@blogger.com (Peter Crooke) — Fri, 06 Mar 2009 05:35:31 PST

Last night, I had the pleasure of discussing fear. Pleasure, you say? Yup. It was an honest discussion with a group of men who meet once a month in an effort to find a deeper spirituality in our lives. We come up with topics and share our experiences, worldly as well as spiritual, as it relates to the topic. And last night it was all about fear.

It got me thinking that one of the addictive elements in my own life is the addiction to a reward/punishment system. It’s easy to become addicted: I create a world in which if I am a good boy, I will be rewarded: work hard, and I will get rich; do good deeds and I will go to heaven, study hard and I will get good grades. Worse, be lazy and I will live in poverty; do bad deeds and I go to hell, neglect my own studies and I will be a failure.

If I could just look at life as a gift, then I think the reward/punishment model would die. Yet I seem so intent on accumulating; accumulating things, grades, successes, and anything that can be accumulated. The more things that I can accumulate, the more evidence I have of the rewards!

Last night I envisioned a world with nothing: no money, no house, no family. It was frightening. But in a strange way, it was liberating. It just went to show me how I had materialized all of those things so that I could control and accumulate. All of that is designed to keep the fear away; yet as with all addictions, the relief is temporary and very false.

I think that was what last weeks’ Christian readings were about. Christ is led into the dessert to be tempted by Satan. If I look at it from the punishment/reward model, I simply say that Jesus has won against temptation, and I now have a model of how to get to heaven (reward). Slip up, and I become the property of Satan (punishment). Yet, if I look at it from the life-as-a-gift model, I realize that the three temptations—temptation to accumulate worldly goods; temptation to accumulate power; temptation to accumulate esteem—are all about the things that will only do one thing: lead me into a life of fear and a life of never being fully satisfied by that last fix of accumulated stuff.

I like thinking about fear because I like exposing it for what it is. Thanks, bothers, for a wonderful discussion last night!

March!

noreply@blogger.com (Peter Crooke) — Tue, 03 Mar 2009 06:37:12 PST

I really love March, ten inches of snow on the ground from a late winter snow storm notwithstanding. It is a time of hope, you know, with all of that springtime and rebirth stuff. But I have to go on record as saying that with March comes longer days and shorter shadows. I can never discount the power of a sun that rises higher in the sky than during December, January, and February. I feel like a solar panel, suddenly energized because energy stores from last fall are almost gone. March is the time of year where I feel the hope, feel the longer days coming, and feel happier. Yes, winter is over whether the calendar says so or not. If the same snow storm that we had yesterday hit in January, the residue would be around for months, until the middle of March. The residue from yesterday’s storm will be gone in a week or so. March is like that: it may hit hard, but quickly turns to apologize and cleans up that mess. Yup. March is ok in my book.

Twitter, Tweets, and a Snow Day

noreply@blogger.com (Peter Crooke) — Mon, 02 Mar 2009 05:58:07 PST

Well, I’ve done it. I’ve jumped into Twitter. I will go on record as saying that I did not do it because a bunch of politicians could not sit still during the President’s speech last week and began to tweet all over the place. I did it because it seems that those in education who want to remain connected seem to be doing it.

Twitter is great because the people who I follow, send reading recommendations, and I can really keep up with what my fellow professionals are thinking. Yet, I wonder about tweets that say, “I’m at the airport,” or “I cleaned the house today.” This seems to me to be a bit too much information. But I guess that’s the price we pay to be connected.

Which brings me to my fear. Do we always have to be connected in so overt a way? Those who have read my blog know that I care to be connected to my fellow human beings in a deep and spiritual way. But when that connection becomes so obvious and overt, then our connections might boil down to simple logistics and gossip. I think we can do better than that.

So here I am, entering yet another phase of our technological world. Can I live a life that can stand to be out of touch for a bit? Today is a snow day here in eastern Pennsylvania. With a day off from work, I rose this morning at my usual hour, I read a little Thomas Keating, read a little Acts of the Apostles, did a few Sudoku puzzles, had an extra cup of coffee, and then signed onto my computer to check news, tweets, and blogs, and to write in my own blog. I wonder what this says about me. Is there such a thing as a quiet day, a whole day, without technological connectivity? Now I’m not even sure what I am really afraid of: technology taking over my life, or my letting it. Shouldn’t I be out sledding or something?

"A Change Is Gonna Come" - On Listening to Sam Cooke

noreply@blogger.com (Peter Crooke) — Fri, 27 Feb 2009 09:32:03 PST

Yeah, yeah, yeah, you’ve heard it before, especially from teachers. It’s all a bout change, change the way we structure schools, change the way we teach, change the way we ask out students to learn. Yet, I am not seeing a whole lot of change. I still walk down the hallway in my school and see rows of students, preparing for the next test, listening to teachers say things that they probably said twenty years ago. Are students learning? I think they are, but not at the level they should be. I think teachers first are role models. And the very first thing that we must be modeling is learning. And if learning isn’t change, then I don’t know what change means.

Many have gotten kind of comfortable in schools. Many resist any program, duty, or event that lives outside of the pre-existing notions of one’s worldview. Teacher and student arrive each day to dance a strange little dance, a marathon in which only a few will be standing at the end of this contest. Those will be the ones who will be “successful.” Those are the one’s that we teachers will point to as evidence of our own “success.”

Change. It might be nice to think about what that means, today.

James Baldwin and Me

noreply@blogger.com (Peter Crooke) — Thu, 26 Feb 2009 05:43:50 PST

I do have a special place in my literary pantheon for James Baldwin. I think it is mostly because he was a searcher, and understood the concept of love better than any contemporary literary figure of which I am aware. In his work during the civil rights era of the 50's and 60's he challenged all, letting no one off the hook for a society that was just plain ugly with racism. His solution was pretty simple: Love. This meant acceptance and letting go of ignorance.

He was once asked why there was so much time between his novels and his reply was, "That's the kind of writer that I am."

I find comfort in that response, if others do not. I find it necessary to periodically head for the desert, to listen, to observe the not-so-obvious, what William Least Heat Moon once wrote about in an essay called, "A List of Nothing in Particular." I come back a new man, energized and willing to speak once again.

Perhaps that attitude is not suited to writing a blog. Sorry to those who were wondering while I was wandering. Rest assured we were all thinking the same thing: Where is that guy? In the future, I will alert you of my wanderings before I go. Have a great day!

Pete

No, No... The Inner Me!

noreply@blogger.com (Peter Crooke) — Thu, 26 Feb 2009 04:48:07 PST

The first time I remember it, I was in first grade. Sister James Matthew said something that seemed garbled to me. Before I knew it, students were taking turns announcing something; what, I did not know. It seemed to me as each of my classmates announced things like, “Candy!”, “TV!”, “Dessert!”, that we were announcing our favorite things in the world. When it came to my turn, I proudly said, “Baseball cards!” Then we moved on to another lesson.

At recess, a classmate asked me how I was going to give up baseball cards.

“Why would I give up baseball cards; they’re my favorite thing?”

“You said that you would give them up for Lent,” my friend replied.

My friend explained to me that this is what we had been doing earlier in the day, announcing what we were going to give up for Lent. “No way,” I said. “I’m not giving up baseball cards; I didn’t know that’s what we were doing. What is Lent, anyway?”

“You have to give them up because you said you would. If you go back on what you said, you’re going to Hell.”

And this was my introduction to Lent. I remember years later, my father thought it would be a great idea at dinner one night if each member of the family announced what he or she would be giving up for Lent. Remembering my first-grade terror, I slyly announced something that sounded great but did not require much of an investment in my time or energy.

To this day, my non-Catholic friends will ask me with a chuckle what I plan on giving up for Lent. At least today with these friends I can explain how the concept of fasting and alms giving are connected. I tell them that I give up coffee, calculate how much money I save, and write a check to a charity for that amount. This tends to impress them, but it is still pretty shallow in my book, not much different than the roll calls of my childhood and youth.

I have found that there are many ways to approach fasting, but I do know that I would hate to skip the opportunity to fast during Lent by simply “giving something up for Lent,” even if I am writing a check. The reason to fast for Lent is far more important. I often turn to the example of St. Francis for my own inspiration. And if I need words, I do not need to go much further than St. Paul.

Fasting is not an endurance contest, something I would never win, anyway. It is a turning out to the desert, a wandering even. St. Francis tended to reject much of the surface of this world, and his trust in God was so great, he found great joy in his wanderings, in other words, in his own inner life. What St. Francis teaches me is that fasting, temporarily turning away from the worldly, directs me inward. And looking inward is where the real challenge is.

To be aware of the interior life is not the romantic image of quiet prayer and solitude, nothing of the world entering in. The reality of the Incarnation teaches me that we are both Internal and External. I often only think about the external because it is easy to see. The internal is messy; it is the home of all the things that make me feel uncomfortable. It is so much easier to give into the external and just stay there. But I’m more likely to find God in the internal.

Jesus hung out with the outcasts of society, all of the people who made society messy. Fasting allows me to face that messy part of myself, to dine with all of those parts of myself that make me feel like an outcast. It is there that I spend time with Jesus, man and Savior. When I know that God loves me regardless of the messiness I find inside, I find the outside becomes truer, more honest. And that is what I look for in fasting: balance.

I have found that Lent and fasting give me that balance in my life. It is the internal that needs work to balance with the external. Without balance I am not whole (or holy). St. Paul reminds me of this: “I know how to live in humble circumstances; I know also how to live with abundance. In every circumstance and in all things I have learned the secret of being well fed and of going hungry, of living in abundance and of being in need. I have the strength for everything through him who empowers me” (Phil 4:12-13). God just makes sense of the whole me.

Fasting is a joyful time because I know that Jesus has come to the table to dine with me, in all of my imperfections. Fasting is not only giving something up. It is a time to look at the whole person. It is a time to balance; a time to remember that Jesus was both man and God. Fasting is a gift that brings me closer to Him.

What About Me?

noreply@blogger.com (Peter Crooke) — Thu, 11 Dec 2008 07:06:49 PST

When my wife and I first took our children to Disney World years ago, I experienced a moment of parental genius. When we arrived at the first park, we all stopped to set the ground rules for the day: no running, stay within eye shot, and this little gem, make sure everyone else has a great time. I was quite pleased with myself, but then the kids simply got caught up in the intensity that is Disney.

I have been very busy lately because a number of the programs that I coordinate at school are overlapping. I am finding over the past few days that I have to deal with a lot of people and am finding that no one seems to be concerned if anyone else is having a good time.

Well, I had an epiphany of sorts this morning. I notice many of our culture’s metaphors are about a big payoff—of course, our economic life is literally about that. Whether it is working hard at family life, at the job, even working at our relationship with God, it’s all about a big payoff for the pains that we must go through now. What if we changed the metaphor, or at least looked at the same metaphor from a different perspective? Let’s just say that this is the payoff. We are living it today. What ever happens today is just such a gift that I am having a great time.

I don’t intend to demean those who are struggling through life, but I suspect we all have our pains—I have yet to meet a single soul who did not experience some hardship in life. But I do intend to ask, why not turn around and look at life from another direction? You’ll get a different point of view about everything. I am going to do that today. And if you want to do it too, I think that would be cool. And if you do choose to do it, that would mean that you would be having a great time. And since we would be having such a great time today, let’s share that. Let’s just say that the main rule for today is to make sure that one other person in our lives has a great time today. You can choose anyone to be the recipient. Good luck, and have a great day!

If This is Progress, Then...

noreply@blogger.com (Peter Crooke) — Tue, 09 Dec 2008 04:00:05 PST

Now I know why old people feel scared. I’m feeling scared. We used to laugh at the old saying, “Just when I learned how to play the game, they changed all the rules.” At some point, however, rules change so drastically, that the new set of rules is really frightening. Now I suspect rules have been changing at the same pace for as long as rules have been changing, but we old guys have seen so many rule changes that we get to the point where we have seen enough.

What are these rules? As best I can tell, rules are based on a society’s values. Those values change and adjust over the years and only those with long memories can think back far enough to realize the drastic changes that have occurred over a lifetime.

I hit one of those points recently as my newspaper editors (I am faculty advisor for our school newspaper, The Harriton Banner) and I have been dealing with the issue of stress in schools and the so-called “study drugs.” Our last issue covered the school reaction to our report that study drugs were being used in our school and our next issue will cover parental reaction to that article. During one of our editorial meetings, we were trying to size up the different kinds of parental reactions that might be identifiable. One of my editors said that she was convinced that stress in school came mainly from parents who look to give their own kids a leg up on other students. When we see a student taking too many classes, being involved in too many programs, and in too many sports, it is likely that the parents are behind such a drive. It does not, then, take a huge logical jump to conclude that parents might be OK (explicitly or implicitly) with their kids taking these study drugs.

The room was silent.

Then The New York Times reported that parents are having their young children genetically tested to find out what sport they might be good at. Yesterday’s Philadelphia Inquirer reported that a group of scientist are concluding that taking study drugs is OK, and it can be a benefit to both individual and society.

As a young man, I might have said, “What the …?” Today I am scared. I am scared of the value being advanced here. I am scared at the hyper-competitive society in which I live. I am scared that this is just too much. Is there any going back?

One Wound; One Place; One LIfe

noreply@blogger.com (Peter Crooke) — Sat, 06 Dec 2008 05:09:14 PST

This morning I was thinking about Thomas and his plight, not so much a failure in faith because he refused to believe in God or Christ. Thomas' plight--and the ultimate source of a powerful conversion--was that he could not, perhaps refused to, look at that empty space within himself. He refused to accept his own holy wound because he could not accept Jesus' holy wound. The break down in faith was that he was unable to see that his wound and Jesus' wound were one and the same. When he finally placed his hands into the wounds of Jesus, he was placing his hands in his own wounds, and they became holy. He accepted them. It is the place where--as Richard Rohr suggests--God resides, where we meet God; and we are one. And the holy wound becomes the place of real life.

Killing in God's Name: Get in Line

noreply@blogger.com (Peter Crooke) — Thu, 04 Dec 2008 05:03:07 PST

Why do we kill in the name of God?

I suppose we have done enough study of history to know how it works, the politics, the mechanics and logistics of killing in the name of God. But the deeper question as to why we do it always remains unanswered. This is, I believe, because we suffer from a heavy dose of blame and denial. “You people did this!” “No, it can’t possible be,” we say and think. “These attackers don’t really represent ____________ (fill in the blank with the name of any religion).”

When the attackers flew planes into the World Trade Center, they were praying. They believed they were doing God’s work. And our well meaning cries of support for our Muslim brothers and sisters, who would never think of doing such a thing, are not so much cries of support as they are a kind of denial. We have isolated the enemy and he is not I. Well, if there is anything that should tie us together it is our belief in God. When one acts in the name of God, we all do. It does not matter which religion; It does not matter if the act is good or bad, we are all involved.

Now it seems that the attacks in Mumbai have similar origins as our 9/11. And the blaming and denials are beginning. Yet we cannot deny a world where we produce people so sure that they know what God wants that they would kill, literally or emotionally, in His name.

Just fill in the name of the religion and the name of the crime; the sentence would be the same. If one kills in the name of God, we all have, and we have to figure out how to stop doing that. We are all people and we are all in this together, so we all need to take responsibility.

I pray to God that I see, especially during Advent, in my own life, how I am intolerant of others. I firmly believe that a world can be changed by attitudes and those attitudes start at home. I further pray that a deeper understanding and Love for my fellow men and women replaces this exposed intolerance.

Maybe that’s a start. Or maybe I’m just a crackpot.

Of George Costanza and Scapegoats

noreply@blogger.com (Peter Crooke) — Wed, 03 Dec 2008 04:59:14 PST

In the spirit of awareness being the best defense against the ills of a slightly askew society, my wife and I had a discussion recently, brief but fun, about the stresses that our society puts on men and women. My wife admitted that women tend to feel jealousy toward other women who they perceive to be better looking and asked if men felt the same. I said no, but admitted that men feel jealousy toward other men who they perceived to have more status. We had a good chuckle, although a nervous one, and peered at each other with that “not I” look.

My mind shot into overdrive, and I got to thinking about George Costanza, that hapless character on the sitcom Seinfeld. Why George? You see, George is a wildly popular character among men; any man who is quoting Seinfeld is usually quoting George. His popularity is found in our realization that George is our scapegoat, that beast that carries all of the sins of a society. Men will scream in delight each time George fails because when it comes down to it, without George, we believe that we would all look like losers.

This little comedic rumination got me thinking even more about gender roles in our society and our tendency to scapegoat. The down side, of course, is that scapegoats prevent us from taking responsibility for ourselves, our actions, our beliefs and the outcomes of those actions and beliefs. This way, we live by outward appearances instead of living by our beliefs. Instead of scapegoats, then, we need to look for role models.

There are many great role models out there, for us men those who have rejected status and power as the center of our lives, for women, I suppose, those who have rejected being objectified by a commercial society. Logic, of course, dictates that these role models are not likely to be famous, but are likely to be our fathers and mothers, our grandfathers and grandmothers, our teachers, and our mentors, men and women who live lives in glorious anonymity. They show us that there is a better way to live.

I feel as if I am rejecting part of what it means to be a man when saying all of this. But that is the point. That nervous look my wife and I gave to each other after admitting the pressures on both of us is very real. The influence of our environment is so very powerful and constant. The best that I can say is what I said in the beginning: In the spirit or awareness…

Thanks, Ted. I'll Pass That On.

noreply@blogger.com (Peter Crooke) — Tue, 02 Dec 2008 07:14:18 PST

I think that I scared my students, and believe me I didn’t want to. I teach a class called Foundations of American Education at the local community college. It’s what we old teachers used to call Education 101. This is the basic introduction to what it means to be a teacher. In September, I told my students the goals of the class. My first goal was to not scare anyone away from the profession. But I added that there would be some challenges that they would need to face as preparing teachers. Challenges should not be confused with scare tactics, I said.

Last night I handed back research papers. There were a lot of D’s. My young future teachers really struggle with writing! I asked how many of them read regularly. Only 20% said they did. I began to sweat. I didn’t prepare a lesson on the value and necessity of reading for all people, let alone teachers. But we did talk and discuss the issue, and there seems to be a problem that they all have in common.

No one ever taught them to love reading, to value reading. They were all told that they couldn’t write, but no one really took the time to teach them. These perspectives are those of the students and are certainly not burdened with any sense of personal responsibility, but the message is a common one: no one ever told me that I could read and write; no one ever believed in me.

How does one share one’s love of language? This love never came naturally for me; I really had to work at it. I did, however, have one professor that helped me in not so obvious ways: Ted McCrorie. He loved literature, and he was a poet. Was he responsible for my own path into language and education? It’s not that simple. What Ted did for me was to believe in me; in fact, on some days I thought he even liked me.

You see, I am and was a lucky man. I got into college because I was an athlete. I’m not so sure that I would have gotten into this particular college without that. You see, when I graduated from high school, I couldn’t read (the irony was thick, the English teacher said with a flair for the cliché). Oh I had decoding skills and a good sight vocabulary but put two words together and it meant nothing to me. I would have scored 0 on any fluency test. A psychologist told me later on that I probably have a mild case of some kind of dyslexia. Ted McCrorie knew my little secret, but never let on that he knew. After tests he would call me to his office to get “clarification” on some of the things I had written. He would laugh and tell me that my handwriting was so bad that he couldn’t read what I had written. In reality, he was allowing me to re-take my essay tests in oral form. We had an unspoken agreement. Ted would assess me in this manner—buying me time—and I would use that time to improve my language skills. Ted gave me what I try to give my own students: time, many chances, and belief that I was actually trying to improve myself. And that’s what I did.

I am allowing my students to revise their papers. I hope that I didn’t scare them. I hope that they believe in themselves and have the feeling that I believe in them. These students will make the best teachers if they get through because they will always remember the struggles that students go through, because they are going through that now.

Today's Story Belongs to Wandering Spirit

noreply@blogger.com (Peter Crooke) — Thu, 27 Nov 2008 04:12:16 PST

Head over to Musings of a Wandering Spirit and check out the best Thanksgiving story! Thanks!

Wrong Again

noreply@blogger.com (Peter Crooke) — Wed, 26 Nov 2008 03:48:36 PST

(note to self: you haven’t published a novel yet). A few posts ago I was very critical of a book about which many of my friends were raving. I didn’t mention the title because I have this rule about judging authors. I know that writing is hard and that no one sets out to write a bad book. I did feel compelled to finish the book because of my friends, but I struggled with this one. I am nearing completion of this book and I have to say this: I was so wrong. The book is called The Shack and is written by William P. Young. It’s number 1 on the New York Times best seller list, so you probably have heard of it, if you have not read it. I don’t want to go too deeply into the story in case you haven’t read it (this is the official recommendation to read it if you haven’t yet), but it does deal with the main character having a conversation with God. There are some challenging images, and I suspect everyone will take something a little different away form its reading. Some will find it affirming, though, and some will find it life changing.

I will tell you this: I most likely struggled with the first part of the book because it dealt with something so horrible that I didn’t want to think about it. I had an idea where the book was going and kept thinking to myself, why doesn’t the author just get to the good part. It has become clear that this is the point of the book. You can’t just fast forward to the good part; life is a little more complex than that and not a little painful at times. So if you get a chance, pick it up. It will probably be worth it to you, in some way. And push through the uncomfortable stuff. That will be so important as you interpret the rest of the book. Enjoy. And Happy Thanksgiving everyone! Peace!

Proposition 8 and The Makings of a Man

noreply@blogger.com (Peter Crooke) — Tue, 25 Nov 2008 04:44:24 PST

I think that Richard Rodriguez is right. The movement to scapegoat gay people is founded in the disintegration of the American family and the insistence by women that they have an existence that extends outside of the kitchen and outside the shadow of men. Women, Rodriguez posits, have a deeper connection to the gay rights movement because the gay rights movement seems analogous to the women’s movement. Although Rodriguez paints a pretty bleak picture of a patriarchal society in decay, I hope that the definition of what a male is can grow and change and improve as our society wrestles with these questions that make many feel uncomfortable. I suspect Rodriguez would agree.

The problem with how males define themselves is that it is founded in a society in which males are trained to exercise power over others. Often, this creeps into sexuality, as witnessed by the continued belief that a man’s prowess is somehow connected to his sexual dominance of women. This cultural weight that we carry around our necks is compounded by our commercial sector; one need not go too far to see advertisements for a number of drugs to cure male sexual dysfunction. Note the looks on the faces of the women in these commercials: grateful. There is something seriously wrong, here.

There is such a thing as masculinity that is distinct from femininity. But our insistence, as a society to place sexuality at the top of the list of differences is just wrong. Maybe it’s wrong to place it on the list at all. Although sexuality is a part of most people’s lives, it should not be the defining element, whether it is spoken or not, of who we are as people. To my mind, maleness begins with, as Richard Rohr insists, spirituality. I am not surprised that Richard Rodriguez can maintain a loving relationship with his partner and with their Catholic parish. He is defining masculinity in a very different way. He sees life as being a lot deeper than the accumulation of power. Rodriguez shows us that it is the true male that lets this go. Position in society, as he seems to take his position as an intellectual and author, is a gift and a responsibility, not a possession. Being a witness has far more value in any society than being a king. If you doubt that, just look at history and how kings have treated witnesses who dared to speak of different beliefs: John the Baptist, William Wallace, and our founding fathers had they lost the war.

Men can define themselves best by being witnesses, by being present. And it is this, really, that makes men in our society so impotent: our failure to be there for our children and our families and only there for women when we get the urge. No wonder women are fed up. And no wonder gays are the scapegoats.

The World Gets Smaller, Again

noreply@blogger.com (Peter Crooke) — Mon, 24 Nov 2008 03:59:25 PST

Among the citizens in the general population we certainly have our naysayers. Every society has those. I suspect that they will eventually come around regarding the power of blogging in government. I read a few naysayers in this weekend's papers. They were saying that government by the Internet was not going to work. It seems that President-Elect Obama is continuing to use the extensive online network that he used for his campaign to communicate (and dare we say listen to the voices of his constituents). In some ways this is certainly a new idea in politics if we are to believe in the power of things like blogs: information flowing in a multi-directional process. I hope it is not just a modern way to take a poll or nothing more than another Ronald Reagan, who mastered the manipulation of the press to sell, well, whatever it was he was selling. I hope President Obama continues the use of these tools that he used as candidate Obama and now President-Elect Obama. In fact I have his rss feed coming into my aggregator. I have never felt more involved. I hope that it is not just a felling, but a true shift in how we govern ourselves.

A Resurrection Story

noreply@blogger.com (Peter Crooke) — Thu, 20 Nov 2008 07:18:03 PST

I wasn’t there the morning that my sister died, that cold, wet February morning. I have pieced together the scene over the years, partly from the stories of those who witnessed it, partly from my own maturity. Although records will show that my sister was the only one to die in the terrible accident, four people died that day, bodies strewn about the highway, next to a crushed and twisted car that, minutes before, carried part of a family, my mother and father, my brother and my sister.

As a father myself, I relive the moment of my own father, the driver and innocent, although I don’t think he ever forgave himself for being behind the wheel at a particular place and at a particular time when another car, traveling in the opposite direction jumped the median and, like a heat-seeking missile, landed dead square and tore apart my family’s car. When movement and that horrible noise of twisting medal stopped, my father, mother, brother, and sister lay strewn on the highway, sleet falling on the sudden silence.

In a movement of habit and obligation, my father began to rise and to take control of the situation. He only got as far as his knees, when he saw my sister’s crushed body. He stayed there on his knees until he could only drop to his hands, his head bowing, forehead touching the wet pavement. I imagine that he had felt betrayed. He had lived a good life, dutifully fighting in two wars when his country called, faithfully raising his children, and probably believing that if he did all that was asked of him by a God that he believed loved him, then he could withstand anything in life, except, perhaps, this one horror that all parents do not want to think about. He would never have imagined that this loving God could take away one of his beloved children. He lived the rest of his life with his chin up, as he used to call it, demonstrating a bravery with which he thought all men should live, but he lived with his heart searching for his daughter and for his beloved Father who left him in the sleet that day.

No, it wasn’t my father who rose to the occasion. How could he? It was my brother, Steve, a young man who had seen his own troubles but was not burdened by a life of war, and hardship, and the struggles of any family man. It was he who went over to pick up my sister’s broken body, to hold it lovingly, but powerless, nonetheless, to bring it back to life. I could hear it in his voice when he called me. “I think you’d better get down here. We’ve been in an accident and Marybeth is hurt pretty bad.” Of course, he knew that she was already dead, but protected me from that moment so that I might be able to travel safely to the hospital. I don’t think Steve ever recovered from that, and it would be simplistic to blame his alcoholism on that moment, but I can’t help to think that his life might have been different only if….

And it was my mother, who faithfully and literally followed her Irish-Catholic upbringing, which taught her that good people are rewarded and bad people are punished. So this punishment was more than she could bear. Her life after that was one of self-punishment and self-imprisonment, trying to make up for imagined and unimaginable sins so that one day she would be with her “angel in Heaven.”

My father passed away a few years later and Steve died years after that, his body succumbing to years of abuse from his alcoholism. And I had a dream last night. A dream in which Marybeth came back to life, only after Steve placed an anointing oil on her forehead. My father stood by, proud of his son, and happy to see his daughter. He still stood back, but this time standing. I am quite sure someone else was there. Perhaps it was my mother, who today lies in a nursing home, suffering from a horrible dementia that seems to ask her to relive that day over and over. I am sure that the other person there was Life itself, the Spirit that many of us believe breathes life into our lungs, the loving Father about which my Catholic faith should teach us. And if you are a Christian, you would recognize, in an instant, this scene as the Incarnation itself.

We all lose things; life changes and certainly never ends up the way we had once imagined it. But that is the point, isn’t it? The things that we clutch and hang on to are the things that are guaranteed to decay, to become lost, to become meaningless. My father found his loving Father for whom this accident caused him to search. My brother is far more a hero than many of us remember because his life’s pains seemed to define him more than this event. But it was this event that really defined him, his humanity, his ability to love. And despite all of those sappy songs that croon that love never dies, it is his love that lives in all of us today. It gives hope that my mother, who today, minute by minute, is still living that accident, is receiving that same gift. After all, sometimes time is a gift.

Because I Want To

noreply@blogger.com (Peter Crooke) — Tue, 18 Nov 2008 03:53:01 PST

During my first year of teaching, I received a gift that has informed my teaching and my learning (Hey! That's the name of this blog!) ever since. It was given to me by a small quiet lady who headed the development office at the school and the office where I was posted as my daily duty. It was a little booklet entitled "New Teacher's Survival Guide." I am pretty sure that I read the whole thing. Most of it was practical advice that I probably still haven't taken. But one article remains with me today, the title of which escapes me. But the topic was about reading for yourself. It warned me that during the first year of teaching that I would be tempted to throw all aside as I prepped, read, and wrote for class. The article went on to say that although these endeavors were admirable and necessary, not at the expense of my own mind. It even went on to say that if I needed the excuse, I could tell myself that my own self development would make me a better teacher but it insisted that the intrinsic value of self development should need no excuses. So I still take a little time each day, to read, to write, or just listen to some music. Just because I want to. Peace!

Yes, I Admit It.

noreply@blogger.com (Peter Crooke) — Mon, 17 Nov 2008 04:57:29 PST

With apologies to Lisa Scottoline, I think the cloistered nuns had it right: silence is the way to the soul.

And yes, I do read Lisa Scottoline's column in the Philadelphia Inquirer on Sundays. It started because my wife reads it and always has something funny to say after reading it. So I took a look, just to see. And I have been taking a look ever since, just to see. I find that Scottoline speaks a language that is pretty universal, transcending gender, especially when talking about parenthood. She may be a little off the mark sometimes when I think that she fails to understand the deeper meanings of maleness, but her column is called "Chick Wit," so I give her a pass on those times. And perhaps, at those times, I am being too sensitive.

I think, however, she missed the mark this weekend for a different reason. Scottoline started off right on the mark as she described the adult child flying from the nest. I was right with her. Until the end. You'll have to take a look at the column but I just want to focus on the last line. It was one of those lines that people read and then shake their heads knowingly and approvingly while they stroke their chins, yet really do not understand the deeper meaning. Here it is: "...with apologies to my cloistered sisters, I think that voice, not silence, is the sound of the human soul." Maybe it's because she mentions soul, always a dangerous thing for a writer, who risks being called cliche at its use. But she pulled it off because she was quoting the cloistered nuns.

No, I don't accuse Scottoline of cliche. I do think that she sold silence a little short, however. Sometimes silence is a louder voice than words. Sometimes silence reminds us that we control so little in this life. And when we get to a point in our lives, where we think that we should know how to handle any situation but where we do not know what to do or what to say or how to handle that situation, we are given a choice. Speak--and therefore try to impact the situation. Keep silent--and try to accept the situation. To be sure there are times that we need to speak and impact our world. Justice depends on it. But sometimes we need to just be silent... and accept, quietly if painfully. The first is the currency of our world and is good. The latter is the currency of our souls where life really happens, I believe, as do Scottoline's cloistered sisters. And when our children leave, tears are bountiful and no words will help us to understand or control. But quiet acceptance will give us insights never dreamed of. And it is then that we come to accept that our children do grow into adults and that is just plain cool.

'Nuf Said

noreply@blogger.com (Peter Crooke) — Fri, 14 Nov 2008 05:07:07 PST

From TED Talks

The Plateau of Relativity

noreply@blogger.com (Peter Crooke) — Thu, 13 Nov 2008 11:01:25 PST

I'm reading a novel right now, the title I don't care to give because all of my friends say it's a great book, and I find it quite poorly done. Yet, it is a popular book, so who am to say.... It did catch my eye at one moment, even though the description that caught my eye broke the rule of don't show it to me unless it has meaning. Well, I think it broke the rule; I, for the life of me, couldn't figure out why it was there. Perhaps it is me. Anyway, the description to which I refer is a description of a valley, a plateau really. But what made this valley unique was that it was at 5000 feet above sea level. I never thought of a valley being above sea level. I have always thought of a valley as a lake waiting to happen if not for the protection of the mountains surrounding it. Like this disjointed scene, I suppose we can find rich, lush valleys anywhere, anytime. Even valleys that almost touch the sky. Hmmm. Just thinking.

Effective and Responsible Communication

noreply@blogger.com (Peter Crooke) — Wed, 12 Nov 2008 05:26:24 PST

To be effective at communication, we need to define two terms, often confused with each other: these terms are power and authority. Both power and authority are often naively defined as having control over others. Power, however, has nothing to do with others. Power can be defined as the control that we exercise over ourselves. Power is granted to each individual by virtue of the fact that we are human beings and deserve respect and deserve the opportunity to exercise some control over our own lives. If one tries to exercise power over another, this is very unhealthy and is really about trying to control another. Authority, on the other hand, can be defined through relationships and is granted by social structure, and therefore comes with a great deal of responsibility. In its healthiest form, authority is a partnership in which all people involved, leaders and followers, understand their roles and through that partnership live a productive and creative life. The Harriton Banner, Harriton High School's newspaper, of which I am faculty adviser, recently published an article that made everyone feel very uncomfortable. Some might view this as exercising power over a community by telling it something that is very uncomfortable to hear. By this definition, the newspaper places itself in position over the community and becomes nothing more than a preachy institution, the type of institution that over-populates our society as it is. Yet, The Harriton Banner exercises no power if it is to be a vital part of our community. It is, however, granted authority by the school district and community that it serves. The paper also is granted authority by various Supreme Court rulings on freedom of the press. With this heavy authority comes heavy responsibility. My hope is, that by publishing a challenging article, that we do not set ourselves above our community, but honestly share in the joys and challenges of a community to which we belong and to which we owe our authority.

Blogging and Podcasting

noreply@blogger.com (Peter Crooke) — Tue, 11 Nov 2008 17:55:48 PST

I am testing podcasting with Blogger.