Teach Peace

Peace Rocks at the 186th Street School

noreply@blogger.com (James) — Wed, 27 May 2009 18:31:00 +0000

“…it isn't enough to talk about peace. One must believe in it. And it isn't enough to believe in it. One must work at it.”
- Eleanor Roosevelt

Marcia Sidney-Reed, the principal at the 186th Street School in Gardena, California talks, believes, and works at peace. A lot. So do the staff, families, and students at 186th Street. Around every corner and in almost every room on the school's campus, one finds another mural, poster, or sign that talks about their commitment to peace and peacemaking. A school with a focus on peacemaking is different from a focus on social emotional learning or character. As critical as SEL is to improved school climate and academic achievement - and there is considerable research that says precisely this - peacemaking means using the skills of social emotional learning to showcase children, adults, families, and communities as active and visible agents of change.

In addition to the Peacemaker Projects - led by college and parent volunteers, in partnership with the classroom teachers - the school also highlights its student peacemakers at the annual Peace March, a community-wide event scheduled to coincide with Martin Luther King Day in January. This past year was the fourth annual Peace March. The event includes an outdoor assembly which more resembles a peace rally (complete with the release of doves), after which the school marches through the neighborhood with homemade signs showcasing their commitment to peacemaking. At the end of the march, community partners wait to greet students and shake the hands of student peacemakers as they parade back into the school.

This year, the school was featured in a new book, Colors of Love and Peace. Featured prominently on the book's cover is just one of several murals on the school's campus: a celebration of peacemakers (Gandhi, King, Mother Theresa, Cesar Chavez, and of course "you"). Compiled and edited by Fereidun Shokatfard, whose wife is a teacher at 186th Street, the book shows off an array of remarkable student art, juxtaposed with encouraging words and advice from the artists for children in the hosptial. The hope, as Ms. Reed explained, was to have people buy the book and then donate it to a local children's hospital. Some of their advice includes "I hope you get better so you can go to Waterpark City" (Dominic Tabin, Kindergarten), "The lion protects the jungle and the doctor will protect you" (Shirley Gomez, Grade 3), "Don't watch too much T.V." (Carlos Becerra, Grade 4), "We live in a beautiful world. I hope you feel better" (Breana Perez, Grade 2), "Be proud of yourself for who you are" (Luis Villafana, Grade 5), and appropriately for a book of art, "Doing art makes you feel great" (Guadalupe Marmolejo, Grade 1). The book also features an audio CD from the International Children's Choir of Long Beach and a foreword by the Dalai Lama, who wrote that the book "represents a delightful and inspiring project created by young peacemakers." Naturally, all of the proceeds are going to charity.

Building a peaceable school is no small task. It means not only reducing the number of fights or suspensions, but changing the way that students and other members of the school community see themselves and each other. In fact, it is more like a vocation than a task, and like a vocation, it is our life's work. School success is measured by many metrics - the grades on a report card, the gold stars on a behavior chart, the scores on a standardized test - but for Ms. Reed and the community at 186th Street there is another question that frames success. It is painted in bright yellow on the mural featured on the cover of Colors of Love and Peace: Are you a peacemaker?

War and Peace and Peacemaker Projects

noreply@blogger.com (James) — Thu, 16 Apr 2009 18:16:00 +0000

Last week, we had one of the college liaisons here in Boston start an animated e-conversation about the lines that divide our values from our obligations. The circumstances that prompted the conversation were centered around a multi-aged Peacemaker Project to serve soldiers. It raises an important question: if we are in the service of supporting peacemakers, are projects that support the military incongruent with that mission?

The question elicited complicated feelings from many quarters, which would suggest that there are no easy answers. On the one hand, in an all-volunteer army the soldiers put in harm's way are disproportionately from low-income families - an imbalance which certainly seems unjust. By pitching a project that holds up soldiers as peacemakers, were we making ourselves indistinguishable from (or at least in cahoots with) a military recruiter? On the other hand, many of us know people in our lives who are or who have been soldiers and who make room for the complicated and sometimes contradictory values of safety and peacemaking. At the very least, surely we can agree that it must be hard, painful even, to be so far from home for so long.

The debate struck a chord with me. Two years ago, I confronted the same conflict with the third grade class I was teaching. Thinking about them - and about the Peacemaker Project we finally completed - I contributed this response to the debate:

I suspect that there has been a healthy conversation going on about this really important question, so my apologies if I repeat anything that’s been said or if I speak out of turn.

Two years ago, I worked with a third grade class that completed a Peacemaker Project remarkably similar to this one, so like you I struggled with my own conflicted feelings about war, peace, the military, social justice, and a host of other issues about which you’ve all been far more articulate than me. I remember vividly the class session in which we were brainstorming ideas about ‘who to help’ when one student suggested ‘soldiers’ – and my visceral instinct to find a reason not to add it to the list.

Honestly, I’m glad that I didn’t follow that instinct. The project we completed wound up feeling good to me (and, I think, to all of us). That’s not to say that we simplified or made less tangled any of the many intersecting issues that you raise about military recruitment, poverty, gangs, and violence on a host of scales. Really, though, untangling that was never within the scope of what we could accomplish together. It was much more about finding the small parcel of common ground upon which we could all stand comfortably. Here are a few stray thoughts on this question that came out of that project:

· Words and ideas are more relative than I realized. That is, when that first student said ‘soldiers,’ it triggered for me a host of thoughts about the war and militarism that felt very uncomfortable. But for him, it meant his older brother. And for some of his classmates, it meant fathers, mothers, aunts, uncles, or cousins. The same relativity was true when it came to ‘helping soldiers’: for some, it meant fighting the ‘bad guys’ (however they defined that or understood it, rightly or wrongly), but for others it was less narrowly defined. I saw our job as helping to create an expansive and compassionate definition of ‘helping soldiers.’

· We needed to find a way to trust the students. It was clear through the course of the conversation that the idea of ‘soldiers’ was much closer to home and more meaningful than any of the other constituencies we talked about – friends, police officers, school helpers. It would have been not only disingenuous but disrespectful – or so I thought – to pretend that their enthusiasm was in any way the wrong answer to the question ‘Who should we help?’ My job then became how to make it something that I could sincerely support. That was not an easy process, but it was my process and not one that I felt I needed to act out in front of the class.

· There are many people affected by war and conflict in our community – and many different levels of impact. Our initial reaction to the choice of soldiers was to find a way to link it to the community. After all, only some of the students had family in the military, but we all lived in Boston. How does having a family member overseas affect families here at home? So we committed some time to researching supports available to military families here at home and figuring out if there was a way to start with soldiers but bring it back to something local. The common ground was that there are families who are sad about having someone overseas and how we could help them.

· We thought about other perspectives in the process. We talked to organizations that support veterans who knew more about supporting soldiers and their families than we did, presented the process so far, and asked them what would be most useful. (It’s important to make sure that we complete projects that make a difference to others in a way that’s genuine and real, and I didn’t want to make any assumptions about what would be best.) The retired soldier we spoke to said that actually families are relatively well-supported, but the group of people that he struggled to support the most were soldiers who were isolated overseas and without much of a family support structure here at home (e.g., older soldiers or soldiers without spouses or partners). So, we asked him to come to class and tell us about that. As fretful as I was about having a soldier in the school, the conversation was a tide-changer for us. Soldiers who have seen conflict are in many ways the most sincere advocates for peace and reconciliation. Our guest speaker was certainly in no way interested in glorifying war and helped put in real terms what it was like to be thousands of miles away, feeling lonely, looking for a friendly word from someone who remembers him.

· We stuck close to our shared interests. And so, students wound up doing what was in many ways a very conventional project – letters and pictures for soldiers – but it had real connections and it elicited a thank-you letter from people they met in person. The genuine appreciation from the guest speakers was actually eye-opening for me. They operate in a world I not only don’t know but don’t approve of all that much – and yet we had a shared interest in a meaningful experience.

I think about successful a Peacemaker Project as having three criteria: 1) it involves everyone, 2) it creates change, and 3) it’s do-able in the time we have. And everyone participated in our project at some level. Many people had their points of view challenged (if not changed) and the letters and pictures, according to what we heard from the guest speaker, made a real difference in the lives of soldiers from Massachusetts. And we did it all in six weeks. Our biggest imperative with Peacemaker Projects is to give children something in themselves that they can celebrate and to help them (and others) see them as peacemakers and thoughtful, engaged members of a community. It’s a simple goal, but it’s probably best that way.

Not sure if this is helpful or not, but I hope so. Feel free to let me know if you’ve got specific questions or thoughts.

James

Striking the right balance when it comes to guiding children through this process is often precarious, especially when we bump up against issues or questions as weighty as war and peace. At the very least, we owe it to children to be honest with them - and with ourselves - as we sift through the moving parts and thornier pieces.

Never Gave Up: A Peace Tale About Hip Hop and Fifth Grade Hopefulness

noreply@blogger.com (James) — Wed, 01 Apr 2009 18:03:00 +0000

The fifth grade class in Room 101 was no picnic. By the end of September, they were already on their third teacher. The first had some kind of a heart attack during the first week (but would recover). The second was a demure but severe long-term substitute with no formal teaching experience. And the third - a kindly, well-intentioned, slightly-overweight white man named Mr. Booth - was earnest but struggling.

When Janet and I walked in for our first Peace Games class at the beginning of October, we both expected to encounter a mild case of chaos. Not surprisingly, that was exactly what we found. We brought a modified version of the lesson - cutting out about 20 minutes of superfluous icebreakers - but it was immediately apparent that we did not cut nearly enough. Adjusting to three teachers in five weeks had made the students tired, suspicious, and understandably restless, and it showed. They thought nothing of barking at each other from across the room or getting up and walking around without regard for anything the three 'teachers' said. We were hardly more effective at crowd control than we were at teaching, learning students' names from the many reprimands parceled out by Mr. Booth. By the time we stumbled out the door, Janet and I were both speechless.

The months that followed saw the class fall into something resembling a routine that managed to find comfort with a persistent low-level chaos. Classes were always noisy and somewhat free-form, with a fair share of scolding (from the adults and children in equal measure), but it was clear that Mr. Booth - for all of his on-the-job training and baptism by fire - had earned the affection and respect of the students. Despite ample reasons to be discouraged - even crestfallen - he was always unfailingly optimistic and hopeful. He was never at a want for an encouraging word, and his mind was always at work trying to come up with new ways to capture his students' imaginations or motivate them to achieve higher. (One morning, I was shocked to come into his classroom and see a full-sized replica of a fully-operational traffic light, which Mr. Booth cheerfully explained was going to anchor his new behavior management system. It worked for a while but before long became just quirky and distracting.) Most revealing, though, was the fact that his students - in all of their craziness - clamored to be around him. They came early, stayed late, and seemed to bask in the attention he lavished on them.

When the spring rolled around and it was time to start thinking about a Peacemaker Project, Janet and I approached the process with something like hopeful trepidation. By this time, Janet had taken over lead teaching, although I regularly backed her up. Despite the stress that they induced in us, we - like Mr. Booth - had grown to enjoy these students a lot. They had character. And so when they told Janet, maybe impulsively, that they wanted to write a hip hop song for their project - a prospect that would surely have scared off teachers less novice than any of the three of us - she sought out a way to make it happen.

We asked around and found a local hip hop artist who said he'd come to the class. The visit was an occasion that prompted both fifth grades to crowd into the small classroom for an impromptu concert and discussion about positive hip hop lyrics and a session of brainstorming ideas. The whole class spent a few weeks on free-writing exercises and then started writing draft verses. Most of the first drafts centered around how they were 'the best rapper alive' - or similarly-themed self-referential odes - which we gently tried to redirect to issues that they saw in their communities. Before long, the ideas came freely: drugs, violence, single parenting and absent fathers, even hope that someday there would be a black president.

With verses in various draft stages, Janet set out to find a way to record the song. The classes became increasingly cantankerous, as students competed to collaborate with each other or have more or less of their verse included in the final product. And when Janet brought in music samples and had them try rapping to a beat, everyone had an opinion on which songs were or were not good enough and everyone wanted to be heard at once. It was as loud and as chaotic as it had been on the first day. And yet this was not the same as the first day. Somehow, this chaos felt more focused.

When she wasn't in class or working with students on their verses, Janet was calling around trying to find a recording studio. Finally, she got in touch with some graduate students at the Berklee College of Music who agreed to sign out a recording studio for a day so they could record and mix the students' song. It was the field trip to beat all field trips. We took the train to Berklee in the morning and crowded into the studio as the Berklee students explained the process: first, they'd figure out some music samples and loop them (when our students started singing along to the chorus of 2Pac's "Baby Don't Cry," they knew they found the hook); then, they'd bring students in two or three at a time to record lyrics; and finally, they'd edit it all together. If all went well, we'd be able to walk out that same day with a CD in our hand.

It wasn't always easy. Students got restless when they weren't recording. Some needed more takes than others to get it just right. A couple of students asked Mr. Booth to read their verses for them at the last minute (which he did). But when we finally arrived back at the school at 2:00, they were able to borrow a CD-player from the kindergarten teacher across the hall and debut their song for the first time with the principal and several of the other adults in listening in. It was a remarkable moment. Students were beside themselves with pride, unselfconsciously singing along to their own voices and smiling broad smiles. Adults, very few of whom would have been able to imagine such a moment back in September, were astonished.

The fifth grade students who wrote that song in the spring of 2002 are turning 18 this year. I wonder often where they are, what they're thinking, what kind of people they have become, and what else they've accomplished. I don't take for granted the fact that the road has not been easy for some of them, but I'm hopeful that the verses they wrote in their halting ten-year-old handwriting have stayed with them on the journey.

Never Gave Up - Mr. Booth's Fifth Grade Class (2001-2002)

Never Gave Up
Mr. Booth's Fifth Grade (2001-2002)

Let's share the Nathan Hale virtues:
peace, community, pay your dues
We are the future, so we're here right now
To keep the peace, and we'll show you how

Yo, the violence in our community is insane
It is deformed and ugly, (what would I like to do?)
I am the future
stop these drugs, stop these thugs,
stop the illin', stop the killin'
Yo, yo, when you smoke, it messes up your brain,then you start going insane
You start getting weak, you won't be able to take the heat
Aright, aright, okay, come on,
Yo, people need to help each other out
Yeah, killin's not the answer, without a doubt,
Alright, goin' to the store to gettin' shot, what's that all about?
There's shootin' at night, that's not even right
It takes your brain, then it gives you a death...

Baby don't cry, hope you got your head up
Even when the road was hard, you never gave up
Baby don't cry, hope you got your head up
Even when the road was hard, you never gave up
Baby don't cry, yeah
Baby don't cry

What's going on with our community today,
we got drive-by's like every day
You see drug dealers ain't keeping it clean
We tryin' to set the world free with dignity
I love the world with dignity
C'mon (yeah, I feel ya)
Anger's like a stranger,
it's about to change ya
Let the change be for humanity

Our rap is clear, our message is plain:
violence and drugs will drive you insane
One, your vein, feel the shame, miss the train,
You'll ruin your brain on cocaine
Don't even know your name

Baby don't cry, hope you got your head up
Even when the road was hard, you never gave up
Baby don't cry, hope you got your head up
Even when the road was hard, you never gave up
Baby don't cry, yeah
(Listen to your teacher)
Baby don't cry

Yo, it's united we stand, divided we fall
We should respect each other,
whether blacks, whites, Latinos, and all
I can't take the pain
There are gunshots springing, bullets like rain,
But they don't fall soft, only hard
I just want you to relax, till I picture you, God

We are diverse, with all different faces.
How come our presidents don't share our races?
White's alright, but in my crayon box
there's also reds, yellows, and blacks
We can be anything we want to be, but it will take time
Even if you're too busy, our future will not wait

Baby don't cry, hope you got your head up
Even when the road was hard, you never gave up
Baby don't cry, hope you got your head up
Even when the road was hard, you never gave up
Baby don't cry, yeah
Baby don't cry

We have teen pregnancy and we can't be free till we stop and see
Can we please stop and see?
Family is a need, not a want,
Doesn't matter if it's a mother or not
But where are the fathers when their kids need 'em the most?
They're out sowing their royal oats

We are the future of the world today
We need to stop and pray, people are dyin' everyday
Without education, can't do what we want, can't make our dreams come true
Tomorrow's sunrise is the light we see
Tomorrow's promise is ours to keep
The world we share is under the gun,
the peace and creatures for everyone
We believe in humankind, no one will be left behind
If you are lost, let me draw you a map:
We're from the Hale School,
and this is our rap!

Baby don't cry, hope you got your head up
Even when the road was hard, you never gave up
Baby don't cry, hope you got your head up
Even when the road was hard, you never gave up
Baby don't cry, yeah
Baby don't cry

Giving Children Choices That Matter

noreply@blogger.com (James) — Mon, 23 Mar 2009 17:44:00 +0000

Recently, I listened around the fringes of a conversation about a new method of teaching reading, writing, and spelling that - I thought, strangely - endorsed the idea that teachers should not correct spelling mistakes. The notion, apparently, is that children will learn how to spell when they're ready. I realize that I may be vastly (and unfairly) oversimplifying the theory, but whether one agrees with it or not, I can appreciate the intention to let children direct some of their learning. I'm a big fan of empowerment.

Personally, I think literacy depends on teachers teaching literacy, in much the same way that true peacemaking depends on teaching peace. But that's not to say that children shouldn't have practice making decisions that affect them. Thinking about this reminded me of a last ditch attempt to teach a class of recalcitrant third-grade revolutionaries and what finally got through to them. At the end of our rope - utterly frustrated by their attempts to thwart our best intentions - we inadvertently gave them a real, honest, sincere decision to wrestle with. And much to my surprise, they rose to the challenge.

+ + +

The class was being taught by a young adult volunteer whose best attempts to reach them were shunned at all turns. After five months, they had broken her to the point where she said that she couldn't teach it anymore. I'd observed the class on a couple of occasions and could see what she meant. They appeared to have grown considerably meaner and more aggressive than the docile second graders I remembered. The final straw was when they started booing the volunteer when she walked into the classroom. Having run out of other tricks, I suggested that perhaps they need to be given the opportunity to refuse Peace Games.

We talked to the teacher and came up with a plan for a classroom meeting during which we would allow students to give honest feedback about the year so far and then suggest where we go from here. The teacher agreed. (I wondered if maybe she was a little overeager to agree, but I left that aside).

On the afternoon of the meeting, we met in the classroom just before the students returned from recess and pushed all of the desks to the side. We arranged the chairs in a large circle - not an easy feat in a classroom that small and crowded. The teacher went to fetch the children from recess, and when they turned the corner and saw the set-up many of the students seemed momentarily stunned. Not one to take any chances, the teacher assigned each one of them a seat in the circle, careful not to put any volatile combinations too close, and then turned it over to me.

I tried to facilitate the meeting with a seriousness that would hopefully both hold their attention and urge them to participate. I began by stating the obvious: "So it seems like there are a lot of things that you don't like much about Peace Games lately." This elicited lots of nods and muttering of agreement under their breath, acts of posturing and proving to me that I will not be able to make them peacemakers if they do not want to be. I seemed to surprise them, then, when I add, "It's understandable not to like some things. Maybe the answer is to do something else instead. Maybe Peace Games isn't for you, and that's okay." In response, some students were quiet and contemplative. Others expressed shock and disbelief.

We'd devised the meeting to be three parts: an overview, observations, and a decision. I convinced myself - and the volunteer and teacher - before we began that whatever they decided would be fine. If the students decided that they didn't want Peace Games, it might actually turn out being a relief for everyone: the volunteer would have less stress, the teacher could use the time for extra reading, and the students would have been entrusted with a big decision. What was the point of convincing them to stick with something that was only making everyone crazy? I realized that I had no investment beyond this conversation and making sure it was as genuine as possible.

And so, with the overview behind us, we moved onto observations. I asked them to tell me what they'd observed in Peace Games so far this year - good things or bad things - as a way to understand what has worked and what hasn't. We went around the circle to make sure everyone had a chance to talk, if they wanted to. They agreed that they like the skits that the volunteer has planned each week - a ritual which had seemed, to the volunteer, outright under attack. That said, many of them also agreed that they wanted more games. Some wanted more art. Others wanted to go outside, even though it was the middle of December. The prevailing theme seemed to be one of wanting the least amount of structure and as much control as possible - a combination which, of course, would mean chaos. "Surely, there's a balance," I observed.

As we moved onto the next steps, I made an observation: I had not heard anyone say that there was nothing they liked about Peace Games, which must have meant there was something worth saving. While some children seemed ambivalent about this, none disagreed. And in fact, several nodded their heads in vigorous agreement. The teacher and I both alluded to the Peacemaker Projects ahead, experiential projects that are next in line curriculum-wise but which require substantial teamwork. I explained that if we were going to continue with Peace Games, I had two things that were important to me: first, that we learned something (a pretty basic condition but one which couldn't be taken for granted), and second, that we worked together. The activities we used to accomplish this mattered less to me, I explained. Not everyone has had a chance to act in a skit yet, so we agreed that we would continue the skits until everyone had a turn. After that, we agreed that we'd try new things - like more art and more games.

Almost organically, a consensus seemed to emerge that we would continue having Peace Games. Before summarizing, though, I added one condition that seemed to be within the spirit of the meeting: if someone does not want to participate in Peace Games one week, they have the responsibility to make that choice. And their choice is either Peace Games or silent reading. Choices are good, but limited choices.

Everyone seemed energized by the meeting. It lasted more than an hour - well beyond the forty minutes allotted and far longer than any of us thought third-graders could sit still for - but we appeared to make real progress. The rest of the year was not without its bumps - in fact, it had more than its share - but we knew that when we had been prepared to surrender our complete control and share some of it with the students, they had risen to the occasion. Perhaps they were stunned into compliance by such a drastic change in routine. Perhaps they were humoring us the whole time. But perhaps they took the responsibility we'd given them and made the most of it.

That's not to say that we should forgo the tyranny of spelling tests, too, but it is a timely reminder that we ought to trust children with as many real choices as we're comfortable with. It's a strategy that's too often the last resort.

Human Bingo and Hopeful Signs of Spring

noreply@blogger.com (James) — Tue, 10 Mar 2009 14:49:00 +0000

One afternoon in the spring, we play Human Bingo in the third grade. Everyone has a "Bingo" sheet on which a grid is printed and in which each square has a statement like “Has seen the new Harry Potter movie” or “Was born in Boston.” The goal is to find people who fit the descriptions in each square and have them sign your sheet - and each person can only sign one square per sheet. It's like controlled mingling, and it would be great at cocktail parties, but with 25 eight-year-olds I try to corral the energy somehow. As a way of keeping the class under some semblance of control, I challenge the students to see if they can do it without talking. (I have learned the deceptively easy trick that rules are more apt to be followed I disguise them as games or challenges, instead.)

This classroom has been a tough sell. The teacher seems to like me personally and certainly appreciates what I've been trying to do, but she has been unrestrained in her skepticism. And often with good reason. We seem to take two steps forward and one step back with this class, but we keep trying. I suspect that this counts for a lot - or at least, that's what I tell myself.

The game begins, and the scene is impressive as a largely-muted classroom is filled with third graders milling about and signing each other’s Bingo cards. After 10 minutes, it gradually starts to get louder, suggesting that a growing number of children have finished, so in a voice barely above a whisper I quietly ask how many have Bingo. Without warning, there is a sudden and overwhelming roar, then a piercing chant of, “Bing-go! Bing-go! Bing-go!” I cannot overstate how suddenly and how much it resembles a mob scene. Startled, I rush to calm them down and move on, thinking that the outburst has overshadowed the activity as the teacher - with a smile-like expression on her face that I can't quite read - moves to calm them down.

The next morning, I talk to her about the activity to try to gauge her feelings about it. I'm fully prepared to apologize for the chaos, but to my surprise, she feels delighted with the way it went. Not only were the kids celebrating success, she explains, but they also had fun. She goes on to tell me that both Jordan and Gwendolyn, two girls who have been on the forefront of an emerging anti-Peace Games insurgence, referenced Peace Games lessons in a recent writing assignment. “It’s starting to click,” she says. “I’m starting to see changes.”

I am stupefied, wondering if this is the same woman who not two months before had given me a stern talking-to about our persistent lack of effectiveness and wondering if these are the same students who have been unrestrained in their disdainful moans every time they see me walking into their classroom.

Instead, I just say, “Wow.” And make plans to go back next week.

An Honest Accounting

noreply@blogger.com (James) — Mon, 09 Mar 2009 21:19:00 +0000

I visited a school this morning that played host to three of the players on the Boston Celtics. They were there to promote ReadBoston and Read to Achieve, two very worthy initiatives to promote literacy in the Boston Public Schools. Most of these events - or at least the ones I've seen - feature players coming into classrooms to read books with children. They're quick and fun and a thrill for everyone. This morning's event was different. It featured Paul Pierce, the All-Star forward on the Celtics, playing the lead in the school play: "The Emperor Had No Hair." It was terrific.

It reminded me of an event at another school that I saw in which the special guest was one of the morning DJ's from a popular local hip-hop radio station. Naturally, her visit caused some excitement. The plan was to have her come into a second grade classroom, introduce herself, take a few questions, and then read one of her favorite books before visiting other classrooms.

It all goes very well and according to plan. That is, until the question and answer portion, when to her surprise – and the surprise of the adults in the room – a majority of the questions address “Jam Scams,” a feature on the show during which the DJ’s make prank phone calls to unsuspecting listeners. The children are relentless. “Why do you do that?” they ask. “Why are you so mean to people?” they add. And from the uninitiated, “What is a jam scam?” Caught off guard, our guest punts the question and blames her partner. The Jam Scams are really his thing, she explains, without actually answering anything.

In response, and as a way to segue into the book without offending her guest, the principal suggests that maybe we should invite her partner to the school and tell him to be nicer to people. It would have been a nice idea, I think, but I doubt that it will actually happen. Still, I walked out of the room encouraged by the simple righteousness and polite indignation of children.

Shiver Me Timbers Peacemaking

noreply@blogger.com (James) — Wed, 04 Mar 2009 21:23:00 +0000

Peacemaking is rooted in relationships, and it happens in some of the most unexpected places, at some of the most inconvenient times, and in some of the most peculiar ways.

Three years ago, working as the Peace Games Coordinator at an elementary school, I walk by the Nurse’s office early one morning to find Ms. Gomez, the building substitute, with a first grader. Maurice, who usually wears thick metal-frame glasses, is wearing an eye patch. He is inconsolable about it. Apparently, Ms. Gomez explains to me, one eye is noticeably stronger than the other one, so the eye doctor prescribed an eye patch to try to even them out. Maurice needs to wear it for a week. When he stops crying long enough to speak, he assures us that the rest of his class is going to make fun of him. Knowing his class, I think that he's probably right, but neither of us say this. We appear to be at an impasse, especially when the principal comes in to tell Ms. Gomez that she needs to cover a class – in fact, to cover Maurice’s class. Ms. Gomez asks Maurice if he'd be willing to come back to the class with her, where they can explain to the class together why he's wearing the eye patch. Almost in a panic at the prospect, he steadfastly refuses.

Clearly, though, he cannot stay in the Nurse’s Office all day. We all stand quietly and think about it for a moment, with Maurice content to wait in the protective isolation of the Nurse's office. The principal takes a shot in the dark and suggests that we make hundreds of eye-patches - enough for the whole school! - and make eye patches so appealing that everyone will want one. His goofy grin tells us we are, incredibly, onto something. And because I do not have a class to cover or a school to run, I take Maurice to find some black paper and ask the secretary for a bag of rubber bands. We take our supplies and sat in the conference room to make a prototype, which I try on. When I ask him how it looks, he smiles and nods. Like he must when he got on the bus this morning, I feel a little self-conscious, but his enthusiasm makes me feel better and I realize that my enthusiasm is making him feel better, too. In fact, I am invigorated by how this kind of thing seems contagious. And this is precisely the point, I think. We make eye patches for the principal and for the secretary, for the building substitute and Maurice's teacher, for every student in his class, and for everyone in his family. We have a lot of eye-patches.

Soon, it's lunchtime, but he does not want to eat in the cafeteria. Instead, we take our eye-patch-making supplies down to his classroom to make some extras. On the stairs, we encounter some fourth grade girls who stop and ask why we are both wearing eye-patches. I ask Maurice if he wants to tell them, but he nervously shakes his head. I explain that Maurice is wearing the patch to help his eyes grow stronger and that I liked it so much that I made one for myself and that we decided to make some for his entire class. Incredibly, and precisely according to the plan,

Jordan

asks, “Can we have one?” I look at Maurice, who nods eagerly, and I tell her that she can. As long as we have enough.

In the classroom, we spread out our supplies and make a few extra patches, while Maurice eats his lunch. He is starting to feel so confident now that he wants to go out for recess, but I tell him that we have a very important job to do and that I cannot do it by myself. I am trying to sustain a delicate balance between personal empowerment and personal responsibility. He acquiesces and takes another bite of his sandwich. He is so excited now to show off his eye patch that he cannot wait for his class to come back from recess - a prospect that was unfathomable just two hours earlier.

When they do come strolling back into the classroom, they immediately notice that we are both wearing eye-patches, but instead of laughing they ask why. Maurice and I have practiced what we are going to say, but we tell them that we will explain it when everyone is seated. Many of them - the boys especially - ask if they can have an eye-patch, and I can tell that Maurice loves the attention. Of all the eye patches, he clearly has the designer model. Noticing this and no longer worried about him, I suddenly notice that my eyes hurt. A lot. I realize that I am also getting a severe headache from wearing a rubber band around my head for the last hour.

Eventually, his classmates take their seats and calm down. With Maurice’s permission, I start to explain why we are wearing eye patches, but he interrupts me to finish explaining it himself. Some students ask questions, but most just want a chance to wear their own, so we pass them out and help students try them on. It is like recess has not ended. It does not take long for students to be envious of Maurice’s flashier and far sturdier eye-patch when rubber bands break or tape does not hold. Many of the boys starting pretending they are pirates, including Maurice.

Meanwhile, my headache is getting worse, so I tell Maurice that I have to go. He is reluctant to let me leave, asking me if he can come with me, but I do not want him to take off his patch and it is absolutely imperative that I take the rubber band off my head immediately. I try to explain to him as gently but firmly as possible that he needs to work hard for the rest of the day - after all, he's missed half the day - but I promise that I will check in on him tomorrow. Gradually, he concedes. I close the classroom door behind me and tear off the patch as soon as I get down the hall.

Despite the headache, the image of over 100 people walking through the building wearing eye-patches and acting as if nothing is even remotely strange lingers. It is straight out of a sitcom, but it also feels like genuine peacemaking. Besides which, it was fun. Real peacemaking is hard work, but it should also be memorable enough to be contagious. And a boy who had been consumed with anxiety and fear was transformed into an eager and enthusiastic leader in a matter of two hours.

The next morning when I see Maurice, he is not wearing an eye patch anymore, but he marches right through the crowd, comes up to me, and gives me a firm handshake.

Peace Games in Action

noreply@blogger.com (Peace Games Institute) — Mon, 09 Feb 2009 20:12:00 +0000

It's overdue in coming, but here's a look at how Peace Games works in a school - as seen on the campuses of our schools in New York and as told by teachers, principals, parents, and of course students.

Re-learning Optimism

noreply@blogger.com (James) — Thu, 13 Nov 2008 16:37:00 +0000

This is not a political blog. There are plenty of those out there already.

That said, presidential elections have far-reaching consequences, including for those of us with an interest in education, children, and peacemaking. And with the election now a week in the past, there is just enough space that our first impressions have had some time to settle. What I've been most struck by is the near universal pride in the election of an African-American to the presidency. It is an accomplishment that has blunted, at least temporarily, the rancor that has characterized the political arena for decades. This is perhaps most evident in the acclaim offered by those on the 'losing' side last week:

Condoleezza Rice, the first African-American Secretary of State, her eyes glistening spoke about it in an interview on NBC the day after the election: "As an African-American, I'm especially proud, because this is a country that's been through a long journey, in terms of overcoming wounds ... That work is not done, but yesterday was obviously an extraordinary step forward."
Former presidential candidate Mike Huckabee, on his blog, wrote, "As disappointed as I am that we have lost the election, I can't help but feel that many courageous leaders of the civil rights movement look down from heaven tonight with a smile that the day has come when a man is elected without regard to his color. I salute President-elect Obama for his discipline and tenacity that has given our country the opportunity to witness this significant event."
Less inclined to get caught up in the historical nature of the election but uncommonly admiring in his assessment, Fred Barnes, editor of the conservative Weekly Standard, said of President-elect Obama, "[H]e's a colossus astride the continent, the most commanding political presence since Ronald Reagan arrived in Washington."
Even John McCain, in his concession speech, recognized the history inherent in the moment: "[Although] we have come a long way from the old injustices that once stained our nation's reputation and denied some Americans the full blessings of American citizenship, the memory of them still had the power to wound. ...America today is a world away from the cruel and prideful bigotry of that time. There is no better evidence of this than the election of an African-American to the presidency of the United States."

We should frame this moment.

I doubt there is anyone who believes that this election marks the end of partisanship, but for those of us who have a stake in helping children and young people not only manage conflict but make positive changes to their communities this election marks a watershed moment. Young people became involved in community change on an unprecedented scale, changing the way that some adults think about young people. Consider this anecdote from a colleague's friend in Chicago:

My sister went to vote at 6:30 this morning. In the past, voting has been a very quiet occasion in the hood. This morning there was a line of folks. In the line were two black young men who she recognized as ne'er-do-wells from the neighborhood. They dutifully filled out their ballots and as it was being scanned by an elderly poll worker, she said to the young men "I am so proud of you." He responded, "Thank you, ma'am. I am proud of me too."

It makes me wonder what it is about this election - or this candidate - that made young people get involved. The cynical side of me suspects that it is largely a credit to just how bad things had become. (And I suppose there is some truth in that). The more hopeful side of me - a side which has really bloomed in the days since last Tuesday - is more liable to credit all kinds of things that are hard to touch and the mention of which call to mind the rhetoric of political campaigns: an historical moment, an ethos of optimism, faith in ourselves and each other. Could it be that they have become more than just buzzwords?

Beyond the buzz, though, I have learned from seven years of working to effect social change in schools that there is a lot to be said for having faith in young people. Community service is another one of those buzzwords, but to do it well requires sharing power with young people in a real way. It is something that carries inherent risks - that they will "fail" or "abuse" their power because they haven't yet developed the skills they need - but the benefits far outweigh the risks. At the conclusion of one Peacemaker Project a few years ago, a young student noted that, "Adults didn't think we could really do this kind of project, but we did." It sounds strikingly similar to the forecasts of political prognosticators in early 2007.

This is not to say that some projects don't fail - nor is it to suggest that President-elect Obama won't occasionally fail. He most certainly will, as we all do, but during his campaign he was able to convey a message to young people (and those of us who were young people some time ago) that faith in him would not be wasted. In order to ensure that it's not, it will require us to have faith in each other and our ability to stay engaged.

There are a lot of people counting on us.

Getting to Win-Win

noreply@blogger.com (Emma) — Wed, 24 Sep 2008 14:42:00 +0000

Recently I heard this story:

"Two sisters were fighting over an apple. Each one desperately needed the apple. The third and oldest sister thought she would help the two younger sisters solve their conflict. She asked each sister to explain what the problem was. One sister and then the other explained that she MUST have the apple for herself, but that the other sister would not give up the apple! The third sister suggested cutting the apple in half. This solution was entirely unsatisfactory to both of the younger sisters and so they stomped off. Later in the afternoon a wise teacher came upon the two fighting sisters locked in their unresolvable conflict. The teacher asked each sister to explain the problem. One sister and then the other explained that she MUST have the apple for herself, but that the other sister would not give up the apple! The teacher then asked each sister why she was in such dire need of the apple. The first sister explained that she was baking an apple pie to take to her best friend's birthday party. The second sister explained that she was planting an apple tree to grow apples to give away to the hungry. The wise teacher then asked the sisters what they might do such that both girls could come out of the conflict happy. The sisters thought hard, but being the intelligent young women that they were, they didn't have to think very long. The solution was clear: one sister would take the meat of the apple to use in her apple pie and the other would take the seeds to plan her tree!"

This story is told as an illustration of a win-win outcome to a conflict. When a conflict is resolved such that both (or all) people involved get their needs met, then the outcome is considered a win-win outcome. Often times getting to win-win requires moving past people's "positions" (I musts have the apple!) and getting to their actual "needs" (I need to give my friend a birthday gift I know she'll love!).

In American capitalist culture we tend to believe that in order to win somebody must lose. The conflict resolution framework posits three potential outcomes: win-win, win-lose, and lose-lose. I find that frequently when we pursue a win-lose outcome we end up with a lose-lose instead. Thus, it is often in every one's best interest to seek a win-win. And besides, it's the kind thing to do.

The above story is a great parable illustrating a win-win outcome. However, when I do a Peacemaking 101 training, or present the idea of win-win to a class full of students (children or adults) I often face skepticism that win-win solutions really exist in the everyday world. We are so frequently reminded by everything around us that in order for us to win, somebody must lose - just think, sports, getting a job, grading on a curve - we're in constant competition. Not surprisingly, and as is frequently the case when it comes to working toward a more peaceful world, finding the win-win may take some extra work. Why not start by brainstorming some everyday win-win outcomes?

Here are a few I've come up with:

A student who is strong in a certain subject helps teach a student who is weaker in that subject: The weaker student gets some extra help from somebody who may have a different way of thinking about the subject matter; and the stronger student reinforces their own knowledge. As the famous saying goes "learn it, do it, teach it". It's the best way to truly ingrain something.

Service Learning: Students learns from doing service in/for their community. (This is the distinction I make between plain old "community service" and "community service learning". The latter focuses on the give and take (the win-win!) while the former tends to be thought of as a purely charitable or philanthropic endeavor).

Brainstorm more on your own or try this activity with your class. Let us know what you come up with!

Service Learning: Finishing and Reflecting

noreply@blogger.com (James) — Thu, 13 Mar 2008 14:27:00 +0000

IV. Published Authors

The joke-writing and illustrating continues for several weeks. We collect a couple of dozen that we all like - both originals and recycled ones - and I create a page template that has a border around it, the joke written in bold print, and a space at the bottom for the illustrator(s) to write their name.

We spend one week doing drafts. Before starting, we have a conversation about illustrating. We talk about the books that we like the most and what they look like. The point I'm hoping to make with them is that the illustrations should be colorful and take up the full page. "What are some of your favorite books?" I ask. We take some out of the classroom library to look at. "What do you see? What do the pages look like?" The answers are just what I was hoping for: lots of colors, pretty colors, big drawings, pictures that describe the words. We take out some sample jokes and think about what the illustrations could be. It's another spirited discussion.

As children work on their drafts, alone or with friends, I walk around and point out the things that I see them doing. "You're using a lot of colors here." "That grape really does look old and wrinkled." "The king in your picture has such an expressive face." It's exciting. I tell them that everyone should do at least one draft, but they can do more than one if they want to. When they are ready for a final draft, they'll tell me.

After a few weeks, the drawings are finished. I tell the class that I am going to take them to a copier to create our book and that next week I'll bring it back to share. The teacher and I have agreed that we will make two copies: one for the hospital and one for the class library.

When I get back to the office, I make a cover out of clip art and and write a short introduction:

Why We Wrote This Book

This spring, we began working on our Peacemaker Project, a chance for us to use what we learned about being good friends to make our community a better place. We talked about who helps our community and about who in our community might be sad.

Some of us have friends or family who have been in the hospital, and we know that sometimes when they are sick that they feel sad. We talked about how to make them feel better, and we agreed that one of the best ways is to laugh.

And that is why we wrote this book. We found some of our favorite jokes, and we wrote some of our own. Then, we illustrated them with lots of colors, just like the picture books we like the best.

We hope that you enjoy reading it and that you laugh and share your favorite jokes with some of your friends and family.

When it's finished, it's a big hit - and it looks even better than I thought it would. The book is going to be given to the Center for Families at Children's Hospital, one of whose many programs is their mobile lending libraries. We invite the Peace Games Coordinator to the class so that we can hand the book over to her (and so that she can deliver it).We finish the year with a lot of satisfaction and gratitude - and lots of laughs.

That would have been enough but for an unexpected email that found me at the end of the summer. It was from the doctor who came to visit the class the previous spring:

I wanted to let you know that the Children's Hospital Library loved the Joke Book produced by those great 2nd (and now 3rd) graders. In fact, they would like to know if you could make more copies to supple some of their 'mobile' library carts at their expense? Please let me know how much it will cost to reproduce and I will forward the information. Please say hello to the class for me and talk to you soon.

We gave them one book, but then they bought two more - an instant classic and bestseller.

Service Learning: Creating Community Change (and A Lot of Laughs)

noreply@blogger.com (James) — Thu, 06 Mar 2008 16:26:00 +0000

III. Getting Things Done

With the seed of an idea planted, the next week we review what we have learned: Children's Hospital has a lot of toys - including Playstation! - but they could use some laughter. We spend some time talking about what we know about jokes.

I start by asking if anyone has ever heard a joke that they thought was funny. A lot of hands go up. I ask if anyone has ever told a joke. More hands. I ask if anyone has a joke that they remember that they'd like to tell the group. The hands stay up, even straining to get raised higher.

So, we start telling jokes. I start.

"What did the zero say to the eight?" I ask to a circle full of smiling children and anticipatory stares.

"Nice belt." The teacher laughs out loud. So do I. A few children do, but others are less sure, laughing more because the rest of us are and besides which this is a pretty fun way to spend a morning. I explain the joke (zero + belt = eight), and then we're all laughing together, although some more tentatively than others.

I try the Interrupting Cow Joke, which I'd originally learned from an eight year-old. I ask them if anyone knows the Interrupting Cow Joke. They all shake their heads. I tell them that it's a knock-knock joke, and ask if they're ready. They say they are.

"Knock, knock," I say.

"Who's there?" they respond.

"The interrupting cow," I tell them.

"The interru---"

"Moo!"

I love this joke. We're all laughing. Clearly, this is my kind of an audience. Much more receptive than the late 20's, early 30's crowd who are usually subjected to my joke-telling. I ask the teacher if she's got any jokes that she likes, and she says she's not very good at remembering jokes, so I turn to the class. A few of the children offer jokes. We all laugh, whether or not they make sense, mostly because it's such a joyful conversation to have. I observe that this class has clearly found its niche. We get consensus that our project should be a joke book, made up of our some of our favorites.

I give the class homework. For next week, everyone should bring in a joke. They could find it in a book or they could get it from someone in their family or a friend. They could even write it themselves. But wherever they find it, they should write it down and bring it in, and next week we'll sit and tell each other some of our favorite jokes. The teacher agrees to put it in the homework log and we call it a week.

We end with a game.

* * *

The next class arrives, and most everyone has a joke. Some have written them down. Some just remember them. Some are holding the class library's joke books in their hands.

We go around the circle. I tell them that if they don't have one or don't want to share, I'd skip them or come back to them, but everyone should get a chance to share.

They are hilarious, even the ones that don't make sense:

"Knock, knock." "Who's there?" "Ann." "Ann who?" "An old wrinkled grape."
What do you call cheese that is not your own? Nacho cheese.
"Knock, knock." "Who's there?" "Fry." "Fry who?" "Fry me some chicken."
Why do you cross the street? To see the monkeys.

We're all smiles. And what's more remarkable is that we're able to carry on the conversation for more than 30 minutes, an impressive stretch for eight year-olds. When I think about it later, I think that it must be in part because of the novelty of the conversation topic, but also because everyone's involved. We've bought into not only the outcomes of our project (a way to help children in the hospital), but we've also bought into the process.

In the weeks ahead, we'd tell more jokes, look at what makes a good picture book, and get to work...

...to be continued

See other posts in this series:

Service Learning: Building Authentic Community Connections

noreply@blogger.com (James) — Tue, 04 Mar 2008 14:09:00 +0000

II. How To Help

With a list of ideas in hand, the next logical step is to figure out not what we want to do but what would add the most value to the community we are trying to help.

Some years ago, I worked in a community organization that served homeless children. We would regularly receive phone calls from school groups that would call to say something like, "Our Community Service Club is looking to do a 'Day of Service,' and we'd like to come in and help the children." These invitations were often complemented by a suggestion of how they could help, given the restrictions on their time and what they hoped to get out of it. Maybe they could come in and play with the children or do arts and crafts, they suggested, so that they could see the impact of their work.

I understood the impulse. I truly did. Making a personal connection is always going to be more meaningful than collecting bags of donated toys or organizing a bake sale. But their view of how to help us was vastly different from our view of how they could help us.

One-day service trips, especially to spend time with the children I worked with, wound up doing more harm than good. They cheated the children in our program out of their very real need to form lasting and supportive relationships, in a climate in which so much remained unstable. What would add more value (and do far less harm), as cliched as it seemed, was in fact a donation of toys or money - or better yet, a six-month long commitment to volunteer every week and form those relationships. And when we explained this to the would-be do-gooders, we generally were met with understanding and agreement, if a bit of a let-down. Sometimes, we got the donation. Sometimes, they went in search of another, more authentic experience. So it goes.

* * *

And so, in my work with these second graders, the challenge was to take their impulse and to find ways that they could help, in a way that they had chosen and in a way that would not run counter to the stated needs of those we wanted to serve.

With this goal in mind and buoyed by a clear direction and a long list of possibilities, we mention what we've done so far to the Peace Games Coordinator at the school, who tells us that by a seemingly providential coincidence her partner is a researcher at Children's Hospital. After talking about it for a little while, it seems likely that we could get her partner and the pediatrician at the hospital to come and speak to the class. The goal of the visit, we agree, would be to help us narrow our options by giving us a better picture of what it's like to be a child in the hospital and how we, as a class of second graders, could make the most positive contribution.

The day of the visit arrives, and the children are excited. Dr. Euler is wearing his white doctor's coat and has brought some toy doctor's tools, such as a stethaschope and blood pressure pump, and he tells us what he does and what it's like at the hospital. The children are enthralled - and especially excited by the toys.

We share the list we've created with him, and he looks it over. He agrees that it would be better for the doctors and nurses to give the medicine. And that inviting the patients over to their house is probably not a great idea. To our mild surprise, he also nixes the idea of collecting toys. "This may sound a little weird," he says, "but Children's Hospital is actually a pretty happy place for a hospital. We've got lots of toys." By way of illustrating this, he explains that every room has a Playstation console, which gets a lot of wild-eyed stares of disbelief and some hoots of approval. Clearly, they are not wanting for toys.

He is, however, impressed with the idea of sharing jokes. Like us, he agrees that laughter can make someone feel less sad, but he adds that sometimes laughter can help make someone get better when they are sick. If we collected jokes, he speculates, they could add it to their library cart at the hospital. Having jokes that other children laugh at - or even wrote themselves - would be more meaningful than other books. "It's a thought, anyway," he says.

He leaves the toys with the teacher and thanks the class for their good ideas. The teacher takes pictures. And we end the class, of course, with a game.

... to be continued ...

See the other posts in this series:

Service Learning: Making Peacemaking Real

noreply@blogger.com (James) — Wed, 27 Feb 2008 15:14:00 +0000

Spring means that Peace Games classes shift from teaching the skills of peacemaking to helping students put peacemaking into action. Peacemaker Projects are service learning projects that are developed and implemented by the students, with some help and guidance from their teachers. After four lessons to explore the concept of service and community, students begin the process of figuring out who to help and how. Here, then, is the story of one project.

I. Who Needs Help?

When we ask the second graders if there are people in their community that need, somewhat ambiguously, "help," we expect the usual cascade of well-meaning but somewhat recycled cliches (the poor, the homeless, maybe a police officer or fire fighter; all of them good and worthwhile suggestions). Instead, the class zeroes in on a pretty simple concept: people who feel sad.

Well, that could mean a lot of people, at least some of the time. Who are some people who might feel sad? we ask. One girl raises her hand and says, "Sick children?"

Indeed, we agreed children who are sick might feel sad. And then another child volunteers that she had a cousin who was sick and that, actually, her cousin had been in the hospital. It was a comment that helped her make a personal connection to the conversation - and it seemed to generate a more generalized empathy. After all, we all know what it's like not to feel well, even if we haven't stayed in a hospital.

Hmmm, so what could we do, we ask, to help a sick child in the hospital feel better?

"Give them medicine?" one boy says. "Or chicken soup," another adds. "Give them my toys?" offers a boy sitting at the front. "Play video games!" calls another, seemingly spurred by the reference to toys, which generates a lot of suggestions that we go play all kinds games with them. "Let them come to my house?" one girl suggests, earnestly but with a little hesitation since she hasn't cleared this with her mother. "Visit them," says a boy, with a tone of obviousness, surprised that he hasn't thought of this, "and bring them flowers," he adds. At this, another girl suggests bringing balloons, which gets a lot of support and nods of agreement. Side conversations start up about how nice it is to get balloons and about a time that they'd received balloons.

The more we talk, the more the suggestions come. All of them are written down. Eventually, the conversation starts to resemble one that we had earlier in the year, when we'd talked about how to support a friend when they can see that they're either upset or angry. That conversation had centered a lot on how you can make someone smile or laugh, even when they might not feel like it. We make an oblique reference to this, and sure enough someone offers, "Make them laugh! Tell them jokes!" It's added to the list.

Once we have a long list, we say that we should try to figure out what might be possible. We point out that we probably can't give medicine to the children in the hospital - the nurses and doctors probably want to do this, we say, and get agreement. We also say that it might be hard to go visit, especially if some children are really sick, but we don't know for sure. We rephrase some of the other suggestions: collecting and giving toys to a hospital, balloons (of course), making cards.

All of these are good, but what about the joke-telling suggestion. I'm drawn to it and its possibilities, but stuck on the fact that it would be hard to write a stand-up routine and bring it to a pediatric ward. If we can't go to them, how could we send the jokes in our place?

And then it comes to me, a joke book. It might be too much, but I suggest it, and it gets enough agreement to be added.

And with that, we take the list and summarize what we know about our Peacemaker Project so far: we are going to do something to help children in the hospital, children who are sick and who might feel sad. We don't know how yet, but we have a lot of good ideas. And next week, we'll try to find one that works.

We end the class, of course, with a game.

...to be continued.

See other posts in this series:

When The Teacher's Away

noreply@blogger.com (James) — Fri, 14 Dec 2007 20:15:00 +0000

In the season of flus, family vacations, and fearless weather-related commuting, substitute teachers tend to get some extra work. That was the case last week in my Peace Games class.

Given all of the variables that a substitute teacher introduces into a classroom - new routines, unknown names or personalities, a lesson plan that may be too much or not nearly enough - the day can quickly descend into six hours of crowd control. It was certainly the case when I was in school and not much has changed in the years since. I'm used to this, and so when the students were a little rowdier than usual I took it in stride. I saw it as an opportunity to let some of their true selves rise to the surface. I saw that Caroline is the not-so-subtle leader - the real "Queen Bee" - in this class, as she gathered friends around her and excluded others. I tried to console Lebron through his suddenly unpredictable mood swings, as he went from coloring quietly to tossing his marker across the room to nursing his bruised ego. And I couldn't help but see that Zhade stayed remarkably calm through all of the chaos. I just tried to take it all in and make it a learning experience, more for me than for them but I thought that was pretty good considering. I mean, we got through a lesson plan and no one was seriously injured, egos aside, so I called that a success.

My co-teacher, a graduate student originally from Eastern Europe, saw the scene very differently. She was mortified. And when I told her that it was really pretty good in comparison to some I'd seen, she was in shock. I wondered whether maybe I'd just become immune - or worse, insensitive. The more people she spoke to, however, the more normalized it seemed to become: this is just the way things are, at least in this country. She seemed disinclined to settle for this oversimplification, and her perspective got me thinking a little bit about substitute teachers and what they inspire.

I picked over in my head some of the more memorable substitute teachers I'd had in my lifetime and some of the things that we'd done to them, and it occured to me: being a student in a substitute teacher's classroom is quite possibly the closest I've ever come to being in a mob. It really was like a mob mentality. I remembered one day with particular horror. I think it was fifth grade and by the end of the day students were literally lifting their desks and chairs over their head and carrying them out of the building. They wanted to sit outside, they explained, and out they went. And meanwhile, inside, it was a free-for-all - running, falling over each other, scribbling on each other's notebooks, using colored chalk on the board - and I was right in there. And it's not like we didn't know how to behave - or didn't expect to be reprimanded as severely as we were (and as we surely deserved to be) - but it felt out of our hands. We were looking for leadership, and when we couldn't find it at the front of the classroom (from this poor woman who'd never been to our class, who didn't know the first thing about us, who was wholly ill-equipped for what we threw her way, both literally and figuratively) we looked to each other. The loud voices rose to the top, by their words and their actions, and pretty soon we were all maurauding with the best of them. A righteous, directionless mob of 10 year-olds.

In the aftermath - the day after - we took a real verbal thrashing from our teacher (who, in fairness to us, had been very transparent about her "Irish temper" on the first day of school, so we really should've known better). I'd never seen her so mad. And when she asked - no, demanded - that we explain ourselves, there wasn't one person who could do it adequately. After all, what excuses could we give? There were none. We couldn't understand what we'd done. It was as if we had been in a trance - or at least, that's how I felt.

So, what to do. After all, despite best intentions and hopes to the contrary, most every teacher needs to take a sick day once in awhile - and it's in these situations that we, as the adults, look to students to be the leaders. And there's no question that this is exactly what they become. The question is, what kind of leadership will they show? The true test determinant in whether we have prepared them adequately to be peacemakers is what happens when a fight breaks out and no adult is there to be the deterrent or arbitrator. What instincts win out in a vacuum?

Of course, our class last week was just one mile marker on the road to peacemaking. It wasn't the worst case scenario, but when we were confronted with conflicts we tended to juggle them rather than manage them. It's what most teachers do all day long, out of necessity. Because of that - and because a week has passed and because I'd become acclimated to craziness around substitute teachers, unlike my co-teacher - I'd been inclined just to let it all go, to go in next week and leave the "baggage" at the door and start over. It's not an entirely bad idea, necessarily, but it lacks a little creativity and a lot of courage.

It takes courage to confront conflict and be willing to acknowledge it, to say unambiguously, There was a problem here and here's how it made me feel. It's a not-so-tacit way of saying that actions have reactions and consequences, and it uses a real and non-abstract example. It doesn't need to be finger-wagging and scolding, but if done well and to the point it could create a new set of expectations for the next time we're on our own, expectations rooted not just in "rules" but in relationships.

And that, really, is at the heart of this peacemaking thing.

From Kindergarten to the Campaign Trail

noreply@blogger.com (James) — Thu, 06 Dec 2007 15:58:00 +0000

I remember writing a "short story" in fifth grade, in which I was the President of the United States. As I recall, the plot was either unconventional or uninteresting, depending on your point of view: I stopped at a McDonald's and wound up being mobbed by the adoring crowds before sneaking back to the White House with tattered clothes and a half-eaten cheeseburger. Another report came out this week that suggests that my story - or even the remote possibility that my teacher, Ms. McNamee, remembers reading it - may come back to haunt me, should I ever decide to run for public office.

Kids, be careful what you write about wanting to be president. Those refrigerator gems are now fair game. As reported in the Chicago Tribune this weekend, the rhetoric between Senators Hillary Rodham Clinton and Barack Obama has turned into something resembling a recess spat. This weekend, Clinton's campaign issued a press release that cited these alarming anecdotes:

In third grade, Senator Obama wrote an essay titled 'I Want To Be a President.' His third grade teacher: Fermina Katarina Sinaga "asked her class to write an essay titled 'My dream: What I want to be in the future.' Senator Obama wrote 'I want to be a President,' she said." [The Los Angeles Times, 3/15/07]

In kindergarten, Senator Obama wrote an essay titled 'I Want to Become President.’ "Iis Darmawan, 63, Senator Obama's kindergarten teacher, remembers him as an exceptionally tall and curly haired child who quickly picked up the local language and had sharp math skills. He wrote an essay titled, 'I Want To Become President,' the teacher said." [AP, 1/25/07 ]

They were part of her rebuttal to Obama's claims that, unlike himself, "others" in the field have been priming their careers and angling for the presidency for decades. Sure showed him, I'd say.

This new strategy notwithstanding, I have no regrets about that fifth grade story. I've since become a vegetarian, tend to shun suit-wearing whenever possible, and feel okay with not being president - but there is something affirming about having been able, encouraged even, to write a story like that. In fact, I'd suspect that Little Hillary has a few of these in her past, too. They are hallmarks of hopeful childhoods that have had at least some modicum of encouragement, whether that be from a family member or from someone like either Ms. Darmawan or Ms. Sinaga (in Obama's past) or Ms. McNamee (in mine).

Enseñando La Paz en Colombia

noreply@blogger.com (James) — Wed, 28 Nov 2007 18:20:00 +0000

"[Peace Games] changed the way I look at my students."

- first grade teacher, Norte de Santander, Colombia

Those who attended the Second Annual Peace Games Network Conference this past June are already acquainted with Juegos de Paz.

Peace Games in Colombia has its roots in relationships, happy accidents, and the uncompromising commitment of some brave and thoughtful individuals. In 2002, a young Colombian woman studying English in Boston walked into our offices and asked if she could be an intern. Thankfully, our Director of the Peace Games Institute, Steven Brion-Meisels, had the foresight to say yes. This young woman taught a weekly Peace Games class at the Kenny School in Dorchester and did some rudimentary translation work.

Her name is Silvia Diazgranados Ferráns.

When Silvia returned to Colombia, she began working with former guerrilla soldiers, helping them to reintegrate into society. At about this same time, the new administration in Colombia launched a drive to create national citizenship competencies and invited colleagues from around the world to present at the First National Forum on Citizenship Education in Bogotá in October 2004, including Silvia and our own Steven Brion-Meisels.

The citizenship competencies that were developed as a result of the forum were thorough, thoughtful, and a reflection of the collective wisdom and commitment of their authors. The comptencies were organized in three strands: convivencia en paz (living together in peace), participación democratica (democratic participation), and pluralidad (plurality or diversity). That peace is a central tenet of their citizenship education is surely a reflection of a culture in which more than 20,000 people still lose their lives to homicide each year, but it also reflects a deep and abiding commitment to peacemaking that perhaps only those who have lived with war can appreciate.

Putting Peace Games to the Test
Attending the forum were teachers from the rural department of Norte de Santander, an expansive province in the northeastern part of the country and a "hot zone" for paramilitary activity. The local Department of Education in Norte de Santander had received money from the World Bank to pilot programs aimed toward teaching the new citizenship standards, and they asked if they could use a portion of the funding to teach Peace Games - in Spanish, Juegos de Paz.

What made Peace Games in Colombia possible was Silvia's unassailable drive to have the curriculum translated, published, and adapted for Colombian schools. Almost single-handedly, she brought people together who could make it possible: Steven and other Peace Games staff, representatives from the Ministry of Education, and the founder and publisher of Magisterio, a non-profit publishing company based in Bogotá. When an agreement was made, Silvia and her mother immediately began translating the curriculum. She enlisted an incredibly gifted painter and family friend (Elvira Rico Grillo, who taught herself how to use new graphics design software specifically for the project) to provide the original illustrations. And she wrote new Colombia-specific material, compiled new booklists pertinent for Latin America, and personally oversaw the layout and final proofs of all eight books (one book each for kindergarten through fifth grade, one for our community service learning curriculum, and the games book).

With the books available, the Ministry of Education enlisted Silvia and a team she assembled from Universidad de Los Andes to administer a pilot program for Juegos de Paz. The pilot would be six months long and would enlist five "educative centers," including three escuelas nuevas. Escuelas nuevas are schools adapted for a rural setting. They have a central administration building and several remote classrooms that operate as one-room schoolhouses.

With the schools chosen, the pilot began in January 2006. A team of three trainers from Peace Games in the United States and the Los Andes team met in Bogotá and traveled to Bochalema, a small town in Norte de Santander, where they spent five days training 45 teachers and administrators. Following the training, teachers spent four months teaching the Peace Games curriculum, including Peacemaker Projects - mostly in 90-minute blocks. At the conclusion of the pilot, the entire group reconvened in Bochalema in June 2006 to evaluate and celebrate their work.

Drawing on pre- and post-surveys as well as interviews with teachers, students, and administrators, the Los Andes team wrote an exhaustive 80-page report on the pilot and submitted it to the Ministry of Education, which determined that "Juegos de Paz" was a viable and compelling program for Colombia. But perhaps more compelling than the report were the words of one of the teachers who took aside one of the U.S. trainers at the conclusion of the second training and said, "You're helping to bring peace to my country."

Continuing to Grow
At the June 2006 training in Bochalema, teachers and administrators at each school agreed enthusiastically that they wanted to continue using Peace Games - and in fact that they wanted to expand the reach of Peace Games in their communities. In the summer of 2007, the teachers' cooperative in Norte de Santander, in partnership with the Los Andes team from the pilot, applied for and received funding from the European Union Laboratorio de Paz to bring Peace Games to additional schools and to build a local network of Peace Games schools. Thanks to this support, Peace Games is now being taught in six additional schools in Norte de Santander, bringing the total of sites to 23.

In addition, funding from the Interamerican Development Bank is going to be used to implement and evaluate seven programs for teaching citzenship in medium-sized cities in Colombia. Peace Games is one of only two international programs chosen and will most likely be taught in schools in Barrancabermeja, a city in central Colombia, beginning in January 2009. This project will be led by Freddy Velandia, a former social studies teacher working on the competencias ciudadanas program at the Ministry and who attended the Peace Games National Conference in June 2007.

Another important way that Peace Games continues to reach committed educators is through Magisterio, which has to date sold more than 5,000 copies of its Colección Juegos de Paz books throughout Colombia, including 300 sets to the Department of Education in Bogotá (as well as Peru, Argentina, Venezuela, and who knows where else).

Beyond these projects, the future of "Juegos de Paz" is still being forged. In many ways, it continues in much the same way that it began: it remains rooted in relationships. Silvia, Lina, Berta, and Marcela - the Los Andes team that has managed the pilot and the Peace Lab work - continues to respond to requests for Peace Games on our behalf. Alfredo and his family at Magisterio continues to cultivate relationships with schools buying the curriculum. And allies at the Ministry continue to be strong supporters committed to making sure that Peace Games is "more than a set of books on a shelf."

Moose, Elephant, What?

noreply@blogger.com (Peace Games Institute) — Tue, 27 Nov 2007 19:05:00 +0000

It's hard to learn cooperative games just by reading about them. For a lot of us, especially us experiential learners, we need to see or play a game in order for us to be able to play it with others.

Two years ago, thanks to the help of two undergraduate students at Emerson College, Peace Games gathered middle school students from the Tobin School and spent an afternoon playing and debriefing games. Now the full video - in five parts - is available on YouTube.

Here's Part Three:

Standing Still and Learning to Be Astonished

noreply@blogger.com (James) — Mon, 26 Nov 2007 21:25:00 +0000

I feel like I've been moving too fast - and there are too many astonishing things that happen everyday. And as a former English teacher - and on-going poetry junkie - I found some comfort and inspiration in this poem from one of Mary Oliver's most recent collections. Mary Oliver is perhaps one of this country's greatest treasures, and while she appears to write most often about the natural world I always find fodder in her words for my more cerebral self.

Messenger
by Mary Oliver

My work is loving the world.
Here the sunflowers, there the hummingbird—
equal seekers of sweetness.
Here the quickening yeast; there the blue plums.
Here the clam deep in the speckled sand.

Are my boots old? Is my coat torn?
Am I no longer young, and still not half-perfect? Let me
keep my mind on what matters,
which is my work,

which is mostly standing still and learning to be
astonished.
The phoebe, the delphinium.
The sheep in the pasture, and the pasture.
Which is mostly rejoicing, since all the ingredients are here,

which is gratitude, to be given a mind and a heart
and these body-clothes,
a mouth with which to give shouts of joy
to the moth and the wren, to the sleepy dug-up clam,
telling them all, over and over, how it is
that we live forever.

Getting to the "Us": Peacemaking in the Inclusive Classroom

noreply@blogger.com (James) — Wed, 24 Oct 2007 14:47:00 +0000

I remember the "resource room" stigma.

In my elementary school, it was the five or six students who used to be taught in what were essentially closets, who used to eat at a separate table in the cafeteria with their teachers, who seemed completely in their element with each other but who when one of them would board my school bus in the afternoon seemed suddenly isolated and ostracized (probably because she was, probably because we ostracized her). My reaction to my classmates then seemed one of contradictions: I remember feeling occasionally envious of their bond with each other but never so envious that I wanted to befriend them myself. I never really felt able to be friends with them; I felt like I had too much not in common, that we were fundamentally different. Mostly, I regarded them with curiosity, when I regarded them at all.

The more I write, the more troubled I am that I keep using one word: them. That I saw a Them at all is really where the problem lies. I mean, I'm not naive enough to think that we should be "colorblind" to differences between students, but I am struck by how institutions can reinforce and stigmatize differences. (After some thought, I am comforted - or at least, less shamed - that I can at least remember one name: Dolly. She was the girl who rode my bus and who would join us for gym but nothing else. Better to have names instead of them's. It's the meagerest but most tangible sign of respect.)

And all of this was eight years after Congress passed what would become known as Individuals With Disabilities Education Act (IDEA), the landmark law that sought to ensure that all children with disabilities have access to free and appropriate public education in the "least restrictive environment," legalese that means that students should be educated in a regular classroom with their peers whenever possible.

It wasn't until this week that I took three steps back far enough to notice just how much things have changed in the decades since Dolly and I shared a twice-a-day bus ride. While students are still occasionally pulled out for special services, these days the majority of the 6.3 million students enrolled in special education - more than half of whom have learning disabilities - learn alongside their peers in inclusion classrooms.

I am teaching Peace Games this year in an "inclusion school." More than half of the students have IEP's. The class size is smaller than I'm used to. Each grade has the help of a paraprofessional - and I'm told that additional reading and "inclusion specialists" are available to work one-on-one or in small groups with students. On the surface, it's a very welcoming, very promising, very hopeful place. The hallways are colorful. The teachers are skilled. And the students are charming.

I suspect that it won't stray that far from most schools I've been lucky enough to see these last five years, but I am suddenly more tuned into what it will mean to teach, talk about, and practice peacemaking in an "inclusive" environment. I look back on my own experience, and I am struck by just how much subtle, unconscious exclusion I was a party to and how much of it was because students whose disabilities would be considered mild were separated from me. And how prone I was to misunderstanding them, to judging them "different" or "less than," as a result. There was never a chance that we might be friends - or even friendly, for that matter.

Early elementary school is prime ground for children's social development. And friendship - what it means, how it shifts, how it gets mended - is at the vanguard of peacemaking for an eight year-old. That all of the students will share the same space may not be the solution, but it's an essential step in the right direction.

At least with all of the students sharing the same classroom, we can rightfully call ourselves "us."

Making It All A Game

noreply@blogger.com (James) — Thu, 18 Oct 2007 15:27:00 +0000

Stephen J. Dubner, co-author of the New York Times bestseller Freakonomics (and current NY Times blogger), recently marveled at the methods of his son's first grade teacher, who designed a unit in which students would systematically assess the merits of the Central Park playgrounds. It is the kind of experiential education that we tend to think of as the foundation of any effective lesson plan, especially in Peace Games.

It made me think about how I try to re-cast the less glamorous aspects of a Peace Games lesson, like yet another brainstorm, as a "game." Instead of asking my third grade students what feelings they know, I unveil a piece of posterboard with "FEELING WORDS" written in colorful marker at the center and lots of different colors at my disposal. I challenge them to see if they can think of twenty feeling words. It's a game, I tell them - or perhaps more accurately, a challenge.

Remarkably, they treat it as such. They all clamor to add another word to the list. The old standards are first - happy, mad, sad - but after awhile, even their teacher is amazed at how many words they know: tired, hungry, surprised, frustrated, furious, bored, thankful. Some students ask if they can add words in Spanish: enojado, in addition to the standard feliz or triste. We get to twenty words easily, and I challenge them to get to thirty. There is certainly no paucity. I try to prompt them with acting out some feelings, previewing an activity that they'll do in a future lesson.

We keep the list in the classroom for the entire semester, referring back to it often. I remind them, to the delight of the teacher, that using lots of "feeling words" (a less stilted and more direct way of referring to adjectives) is important not just for peacemaking but for good writing.

On the surface, playing a game and brainstorming feeling words have little to do with each other, but to me the common denominator of both is the level to which we are able to engage students in the activity. It's part creativity, part enthusiasm, and part semantics. Brainstorms are tiresome; games are exciting.

As we begin another year, remember to make those lesson plans come to life. And don't forget to share that wisdom with the rest of us.

The First Day

noreply@blogger.com (James) — Thu, 06 Sep 2007 14:01:00 +0000

For years, I have associated the First Day of School with a sleepless night - or possibly a sleepless weekend.

Thinking about it now, I wish that I had kept a better journal about my days in a classroom. I was going to be teaching high school juniors and seniors - American Literature and Expository Writing (whatever that was). I was not that far removed from being an adolescent myself, in my early 20's but just barely. I approached the First Day with a mix of mild anxiety and narcissism. Yes, I was nervous. Of course I was. But still, I harbored a perception - now identified as an acutely savvy coping strategy - that, as a recent adolescent myself, I understood them. I even clung to a small dose of contempt for the older, more seasoned teachers in the building, thinking that they were most likely out of step with their students and that only someone with my credibility would be able to truly reach them.

In the end, it was all a harmless but revealing naivite, but it got me through those first few days. I had to be somewhat arrogant and overly self-confident to think that the definition of the word supercilious or bivouac, or the interpersonal dynamics of Janie and Teacake in Their Eyes Were Watching God, or figuring out when to use a semi-colon were somehow relevant to their lives. But I convinced myself that they were, that in fact they could not possibly leave the classroom without knowing these things.

I remember feeling like the only thing that kept me going was the adrenaline. I remember toasting a bagel for breakfast and finding the mere thought of food nauseating. I remember sleeping for three hours and then tossing and turning for the rest of the night, just waiting for the alarm. I remember the fluorescent lights of the windowless classroom, four rows of contemptuous and skeptical 17 year-olds, the way that Robert refused to take notes and how charming Elizabeth thought that was, the sound of Shondra sucking her teeth at me when I tried to set some "ground rules" for our class, how grateful (and shocked) I was that Gillian at least seemed to be paying attention, thinking that my multi-colored chalk and inspirational quote were just props and made me look even more foolish than I felt, the realization that tomorrow's lesson plan was going to have to look a lot different from today's.

And yet, I also remember feeling energized and hopeful and determined. I came back the next day. Every morning, I used my colored chalk to put a new quote on the board. Every night, I read more and wrote more notes. And within weeks, I was sleeping all the way through the night (except on Sundays).

For those of us new to teaching and schools, these are among the most trying - and most invigorating days - of what we hope is a career. What are the things going through your head these days? What questions do you have that seem unanswerable? What are the things preoccupying your thoughts these days?

And for those of us who have been there before, what wisdom can you share? What was your First Day like? How did you approach it - your first relationships with your students and your colleagues - and how did your approach evolve over the year? What would you do differently? How did you sustain yourself?

Leaving It On The Ballfield

noreply@blogger.com (James) — Sat, 23 Jun 2007 20:21:00 +0000

Here's a post written initially at the end of June. This is the problem with being your own editor: you think that there's always more to write and so you wait to finish it, when suddenly you look up and realize that you've already said it all and it's too late. But here's the benefit of being your own editor: you can say, What the heck, and post it anyway. (~JN, 9.6.07)

It's summer. Officially.

In many urban corners, we greet its arrival with a combination of excitement (especially in those places that have a winter to compare it to) and trepidation. Violent crime rates, homicide especially and especially among young people, tend to tick upwards in the summer.

I live in a building on the corner of Fitzhenry Square, an otherwise unexceptional part of Revere Beach. Revere is a city just to the north of Boston, in the flight path to the airport. Revere Beach, in addition to the self-proclaimed distinction as "the first public beach" in the United States, is also zoned as a low-income neighborhood. Further inland, where you'll find City Hall, you'll also find all of the older, lifelong residents, many descended from Italian immigrants but long since assimilated into charming curmudgeons with American flags on their front doors. Revere Beach, on the other hand, is a curious brew. On the four block walk from my front door to the T, I hear Brazilian music coming from an apartment next door, walk by an El Salvadoran flag draped across a window like a curtain, glance at the musical cursive of Arabic on the Moroccan market on the corner (just opposite the Brazilian corner store with a basket of Colombian and Venezuelan flags at the front door), pass a Cambodian family walking their children to school, and gawk admiringly at the garish lawn ornaments of the old Irish-Italian family. Somehow, it works.

But that's not what I meant to write about. It's just background.

In the middle of Fitzhenry Square is a small triangle of grass, about the size of a softball infield, with a few trees. When I first moved three years ago, this plot of land was mostly used for dropping trash on and pretty much ignoring. Last year, the city put up a small chain-link fence around the edge and people started bringing their dogs, which I thought was a better alternative. And then, a couple of weeks ago, I came home and saw a full-on game of kickball on our little plot of grass. What made it significant to me was that there were a dozen children - ranging in age from probably about four or five up to twelve or thirteen, boys and girls, and a range of race and ethnicity that would make a census-taker proud (and not that unlike our neighborhood, in general).

It reminded me of a childhood that I did not think existed anymore - and one that I'm very aware does not exist in far too many neighborhoods. Children do not play outside much these days. In the suburbs, the excuses are largely something like laziness, video games, computers, and scheduled intramural activities like soccer and dance classes. In the city, all of these apply, compounded by a very real fear that parks and neighborhoods are not safe.

And here - right on my corner - were a dozen children, some of whom I'd seen before but many more that were new to me, playing kickball. My work has taught me to be generally disdainful of competitive games. The win-lose mentality can be perilous and counterproductive to lessons in peacemaking - or so I've convinced myself. In order to blunt its more deleterious effects, competitive games need supervision or, more accurately, re-direction. At least, this is what I've told myself, but I realize that I have just fallen into an old trap, one that sees children as less than capable, as requiring my worldliness and wisdom rather than letting them discover their own.

The lessons being learned on that patch of grass, aside from the obvious benefits of exercise, are myriad: inclusion, trust, friendship, communication, assertiveness, self-reliance, empowerment, teamwork, compromise, empathy, motivation, among many others. There is, of course, a place for teaching children the lessons we think they ought to learn, but sometimes we would do well to stand back and let our children teach themselves.

Child Rights

noreply@blogger.com (Eric G.) — Sun, 03 Jun 2007 20:04:00 +0000

I thought this poem might fit well into this blog. I was inspired amidst projects, assessments, graduate classes, and of course the children. Despite the visceral nature of the subject matter I always maintain Hope. Yup, "hope" with an uppercase "H"! Please enjoy.

Child Rights
Eric G.

Advanced learning rubrics. Learning styles—students choose it
Excess—expensive feelings. Raise the bar or ceilings. Scar tissue healing amidst Free-World wheeling and dealings.

In the face of adversity: recognize cognitive diversity. University. Multiplicity. Country bumpkins & city people amidst pitter-patter longevity realities. Malice, violence—tyrants' incompliance to Science. Defiance for alliance to try finance.

Pre-panned assessment-driven committees prod/push or nurture pity, mechanics and curricula nitty- gritty. Scientific, specific tricks nifty. Thrifty. Reach bottom, middle and gifted students quickly. Stay away from the shady and shifty.

Student autonomy… dead center. Cohesion/harmony. Lesson-planning—touch them all for understanding. Compliments over reprimanding handling or dismantling of hurtful bantering. Holistic answering to bubble-sheet rampaging. Scampering not hampering authentic champions.

Socio-political factors: lunchrooms and back-packers—economics, profits. Late shift offer job-picked. Section 8 stuck or pocket-rocket, esoteric dropkick-lawsuit conglomerate. Yet, still teach rich topics whether in deserts, oases, or tropics.

Siphon those slipped through cracks. Cerebral maps blessed destiny in authentic facts. Find Truth in different tracks if lethargy attacks.

Reflect Day & Night with standards in sight. Everyday joy over everyday plight. No blights just insights for the levels of new Heights. Battle ignorance and recalcitrance with chicken-soup flavored significance. Magnificent caring, declaring, and daring—repairing shrapnel-shattered despair.

Emancipation = Education

The Time of Year to Concentrate on the Little Things Big Time!

noreply@blogger.com (Richard Cardillo) — Tue, 08 May 2007 19:54:00 +0000

The end of the school year is nigh!

That one sobering sentence serves as a harbinger for finishing up Community Service Learning projects, preparing for last report cards, end of semester events, graduations, final parent/teacher meetings, grading the final papers, getting evaluations done and maybe, just maybe, taking time to smell some of the flowers. Whew!

We started the school year with the best of intentions and with lofty goals. Before we assess our development with these goals, how about an appraisal on the very simple, very basic yet very important "mini-goals" we also established? Here's a simple evaluative list for just today:

Did I say thanks for a kindness shown to me?
Did I smile at someone who was having a rougher day than I?
Did I put things in perspective before reacting?
Did I count to 10?
Did I do something nice for myself?
Did I laugh?

We live in a "test-centric" enviroment. Measurable standards are our basis for promotion/demotion, success/failure, achievement/room for improvement. So how about "setting ourselves up" for success by using the standards mentioned above to measure our accomplishments?