I’m between jobs now. The firm I was with just cut about 30 more positions and mine was among them. So, I just polished up my Manager-Tools resume and realized that I hadn’t shared the template I created for Apple Pages. Here’s the template which I make available at no cost and with no warranty (expressed nor implied, as they say).

I started working through the Django 1.1.1 tutorial and promptly ran into the following error:

ImportError: No module named django.core.management

I was trying to execute the following command from the mysite project directory:

./manage.py --version

I’m using python 2.5 on Mac OS X, 10.6.2 (Snow Leopard) because I’m learning Django to use in conjunction with Google App Engine.
The first change I made was to set an alias so that python 2.5 is used. The second was to move /Library/Python/2.5/site-packages to the beginning of PYTHONPATH. I made these changes by adding two lines to my .profile:

export PYTHONPATH="/Library/Python/2.5/site-packages:$PYTHONPATH"
alias python=python2.5

I started my next project. Actually, it’s a BHAG—big, hairy, audacious goal. I’m building a source-based genealogy application. It will be an Internet application, so your operating system of choice is irrelevant. Here’s my concise description:

An Internet application for recording, analyzing, and presenting chains of genealogical evidence and the lineages they document.

I’m calling it Lineascope™.

I’ve been reading Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi’s book, Flow: The Psychology of Optimal Experience. Many ideas in the book resonate with me. This one I encountered last night is a good example:

“When experience is intrisically rewarding life is justified in the present, rather than being held hostage to a hypothetical future gain.”

It connected for me because I’ve been thinking about unschooling lately and I think the truth of his statement helps to explain why unschooling is natural and compulsory education is unnatural. When learning is intrinsically rewarding, life is justified in the present. When learning is compulsory, life is held hostage to another’s desired future.

My son has been enjoying the Go, Diego, Go series over the past  couple of months. For the uninitiated, Diego and his sister Alicia are animal scientists who rescue animals. Logan likes playing animal rescue missions and has recruited his sister Paige.  He can often be heard saying, “I’m Diego and she’s Alicia.”

A New Name

Over the last couple of weeks Logan began correcting us when we called him by his given name, telling us, “I’m Diego.” This, even when he was doing things other than playing animal rescue. My wife took this in stride, going along with his desire for us to refer to him as “Diego” and his sister as “Alicia.” I, on the other hand, was typically reluctant; clinging unconsciously to the set of illusions I call reality.

I was happy to go along while a game of pretend was apparent. It was during the remainder of the time that I stubbornly referred to him as “Logan.” This past weekend it occurred to me during one of those times that I was the only person calling him “Logan,” that an examination of my reluctance was in order.

My Problem

The first problem I had with him wanting to be called “Diego” was: would it harm his sense of identity? Would he cease being called “Logan?” What’s wrong with being called “Logan” anyway? That last question clued me into another of my issues. I had my ego wrapped up in the name.

Carrie and I had spent hours deciding on a short list of names for our then unborn boy. The problem wasn’t paring down a long list—it was finding names we both thought suitable. As it turned out, we had not needed to pre-select a name. It was only upon seeing him that we would know what we wanted to call him. “Logan” was the name we both felt fit him. We needed only to prepare our minds with names we liked and that passed the, “How might other children abuse the name?” test. So “Logan” it was, and now it’s “Diego.” I’ve been working on my issues with Diego’s choice by applying two of my guiding principles.

Principle One: Intrinsic Value

The first is respecting intrinsic value. I believe all beings have equal intrinsic value and therefore are due equivalent respect. I am no more or less than a child or any other being. Just as my choice of what names I respond to is mine, my son’s choice is his. Applying this principle, if he wants to be called “Diego,” I must respect that.

Principle Two: Reject Fear

The second principle I’ve applied is reducing fear-based choices. I do this by identifying fear-based thinking, examining the underlying fears, and reframing to eliminate fear as a factor in making choices. I’ve identified the fear-based thinking in this situation. I was afraid of his pretending to be someone else. My underlying fear was that he wouldn’t develop a healthy sense of self and purpose. The reframe I have applied is one I have found is often helpful with fear: fear reframed as experiencing the limits of our ability to control. I trust children to develop themselves under their own direction. And it frightens me, not because I have incomplete trust, but because I know that I have no control over it (being stripped of illusion is scary). I now see my lack of control and I’m okay because I trust the process and know my part is to provide resources for my children to use in their development and to keep my mental baggage out of their way. Carrying out my part is the only way I know of to affect the process and its product for the better.

My son Logan and I have been playing a game called HarborMaster on my iPhone lately. In the game, the player controls the incoming and outgoing ships in a harbor. One guides ships into docks, which are sometimes color coded, and back out to open water after their cargo is unloaded. The goal is to get as many units of cargo unloaded as possible before any of the ships, which arrive at an ever increasing rate, collide. Logan has other ideas.

The Boy Likes Crashing

He tries to direct the ships into the rocky shore or the beach, into the mismatched docks, and into each other. He’s not gotten more than 7 cargo units unloaded in a game even though he undersands the mechanics. I know he does because his collisions and attempts to run the ships aground are carefully executed. These short games wouldn’t be a problem except that we take turns playing and my games take much longer than his.

I Like Order

To my surprise, he doesn’t seem to mind, but it bothered me. I pointed out to him that his turns would last longer if he would stop crashing the ships. Unconcerned, he said, “Sometimes I like my turns little.” Getting frustrated, I said, “But, that’s not how the game is supposed to be played.” This bit of “wisdom” was met with silence. Fortunately, I’m practicing the skill of quickly identifying when I feel frustrated then examining the causes.

Then I Looked Inside

When I explored my frustration this time I discovered that my reaction was tied into my sense of right and wrong. It was bothering me that he was deliberately trying to scuttle the ships. I let go of my desire for him to play my way.

It’s About Exploration, Not Competition

As I thought about this later, I had an important realization. I had blurred the line between fantasy and reality. There is nothing wrong with crashing ships in a game. I realized the point of the game for Logan is to explore it–to learn–not to compete, as I thought. That’s how young children view everything. It’s funny how young children intuitively understand this and we forget it as adults. This is a great example of one of the gifts that comes from being with kids: discovering what parts of ourselves to nurture to become whole again.