Tuesday, April 21, 2015

Coming Out of Hibernation

I want to be honest here.  I haven’t moved in almost a year.  Last June I had an operation and prior to my surgery I swam or walked almost daily.  Then the surgery and a myriad of other circumstances.  My response was to eat mindlessly and to not move.  I did not literally sit for a year, but I didn’t include movement in my lifestyle.  I didn’t walk.  I didn’t swim.  I didn’t do the movement that gets my temperature up and my endorphins going.  I get why I chose to do what I did.  And I am not guilting myself because of the choice.  It is what I chose.  Today I am at a point where I am beginning to choose differently.  I am waking up from a long year’s sleep. 

Of all of the domains for living (emotional, physical, mental and spiritual), I am the least familiar and comfortable in the physical domain.  I connect to others and to my feelings.  I use my mind to create and to think through complicated scenarios.   I consider myself spiritual (although not particularly religious) and find comfort and inspiration in connecting with nature and a God who is greater than I.  Movement, exercise, feeling grounded in my body—well, all are areas that are less than comfortable.  That part of me is the part that always is the first to go to sleep and the last to wake up.

Yet, there is this gnawing.  Is it a stretch and yawning out of sleep?  A beginning movement from rem sleep to awake?   I have felt it occasionally in this last year’s sleep, a distant pressing, almost like a hunger pang, hungering for a deeper touch with my body.  I mostly ignore it and sometimes it catches me by surprise, asking me to pay attention.  This body connection happens for me with movement.  I know it.  And it is so easy to ignore.

This gnawing pressed stronger as I read a recent Facebook post of Anne Lamott’s.   She was turning 61 in two days when she posted her writing.  (I am currently 61, too.)  She wrote, in list form (14 things) that are the total of all she knows.   Number 13 hit me hard:

13. Exercise: If you want to have a good life after you have grown a little less young, you must walk almost every day. There is no way around this. If you are in a wheelchair, you must do chair exercises. Every single doctor on earth will tell you this, so don't go by what I say.

The gnawing is calling me yawning, stretching out of hibernation.  I want to live a good life.  And I have but one life.  My body houses all of the domains of which I find most fulfillment.  It houses the center where I make emotional connections.  It houses my mind and my creativity.  It houses my spirit.  I let it go to sleep and want it to wake up.   I want to move my body and honor it with the care it deserves.  I want it to join the rest of me—fully alive and awake.

I live in Rochester, NY.  It is a cold country (another excuse for hibernation, I might add).  We are in late April and daffodils are just beginning to bloom.  Today’s high is 54.  And on April 1 my pool opened.  There are the hearty among us who relish swimming in the cold.  I have been yawning and thinking about #13—not one among the hearty.  

Until today.  To begin the waking up, I donned my suit today and began my swimming regime.  The water warm and the air cool enveloped me as I waded into the wet, my body woken by a light breeze and chlorinated water.   I began slowly.  Length after length of breaststroke, pulling the water to push me forward…again and again and again.   The blue of sky and water buoyed me, cheering me as I touched the pool perimeter to turn around and begin my next length.

Energy begets energy,  so they say.  I have to say, only 10 lengths later, I feel energized.  I also feel a bit sore.  The effect of no movement interacting with movement.  I am so happy that today I chose to move.  I want to build up and get better at this.  And I want to be more in my physical domain.  I am excited.  I am stretching my way out of hibernation.

Is the gnawing turning into a yearning?  I am not sure.  But today, I made a movement toward movement.   Followed, yet again, by choice for movement tomorrow.  One stroke at a time.   I don’t want to go back to sleep.  Today I came out of hibernation and I want to stay awake.


Thursday, April 16, 2015

Mirror

Today I look in the mirror.
“Idiot,” I whisper,
chagrined that I reacted
so quickly in anger and
let everything unravel.

I hear in an interview
that a poet I most admire
is a chain smoker.
She speaks about a place
of forgiveness as impossible
for the father of her childhood.

My daily meditation tells
of St. Paul on the way
to Damascus, hating and
plotting, his murderous
threats creating fear,
causing chaos.

Broken people.
Broken promises.
Broken bread.
Broken childhood.
Broken words.
Broken body.

Paul, broken, hears the voice
of god on that trail to Damascus.
Weakness revealed as strength.
Chosen he changes.
Broken he finds love.

She, with her foibles,
breaks open the most perfect of words,
an analogy, a nuance, a twist of phrase,
a space where perfection
breathes in the imperfection
and lives.

In the rawness of reaction,
I wonder, “Would I ever speak
to someone I hate with such venom?”
If not them—why me?
The mirror broken
reflects perfection .

Love is found.


Tuesday, April 14, 2015

On Testing Madness, Opting Out and Anxiety

Today New York State testing madness begins.   For the next twelve days we will have six testing days and six make-up days, during which children will be spending approximately 2 hours for each of six days, being tested on tests created by Pearson Learning and mandated by the state of New York.  These tests will determine levels of intervention students are given and for the first time, a large portion (50%) of the teachers’ final evaluation will be based on the test results.

Two years ago I wrote on this blog about the needless stress to which we are subjecting our youth because of the mandated Grade 3-8 ELA and Math tests.  I walked through classrooms, as the teachers and students prepared for the test, and I saw students tapping on their desks, pulling and twisting their hair and biting nails.  I lamented, then, about the level of anxiety we are subjecting or our youngest through the testing process.  Today I write to express another ludicrousness that is placing another wave of stress on our children.  The stress is rooted in what has been the byproduct of procedures created by the state for families who choose to “opt out”.

I have been in the educational arena for basically all of my life.  I have filled roles as teacher, as student, as principal, as district administrator, as consultant and as parent—to name a few.  I believe in accountability.  I believe in the power of data to support informed decisions about schools and students.  I believe the Common Core Standards are good for education.  I believe that tying 50% of a teacher’s evaluation on one test is bad for education.  I believe in partnerships between schools and homes to create optimal conditions for student learning.  And I believe in the rights of parents to determine what they feel is in the best interest of their children both in and out of schools, knowing that sometimes they are a prong of a partnership to determine the path to what is best and at other times, they have the final say.

Many of my friends are educators and parents and I have been privy to multiple discussions by multiple stakeholders about the “opting out” phenomenon that has taken root in NYS at a grass roots level.  In some schools and districts the majority of parents are choosing to have their children not take the NYS 3-8 ELA and Math tests. Parents, teachers and schools have grappled with the ramifications of a single test that has tremendous power but has not proven to be a reliable predictor of really much of anything.  One thing we do know though—the test is rooted in money.  And power.   And politics. 

However, for the most part, parents are not rooted in any of this bureaucracy.  They are rooted in their child.  And they are rooted in relationships formed at school.  They are rooted in a partnership with the school for their child.  They want what is best for their child.  And their answer for how to address what is best for their child in what they perceive to be a testing debacle is to “opt out”.  

Sounds easy.  Sounds like an option to lift anxiety.  Right?  Wrong!  The hoops are numerous.  And in the end, the onus for opting out lies on—get this—THE CHILD!  The parent can write a letter to the school asking for their child to not be given the test.  They can say they are “opting out”.  But there really is no provision for the parent to opt out.  A parent can do one of two things.  The parent can take their child out of school for twelve days (the days that the test is being administered and the testing make-up days—maybe that could be family vacation time, I suppose). Or, if the parents don’t want the child to miss the rest of the instruction that takes place out of the testing and make-up hours of a school day, they can send their child to school and have the child refuse to take the test when the test is passed to him or her.

This “opt-out” option, is stressful to all—especially to the youngest of our school partnership—the child.   We are asking our children to participate in civil disobedience.  Children have been taught to obey and appreciate authority.  Yet they have dual authorities giving them differing messages (even though these two prongs of that partnership—parent and teacher—may actually see through a very similar lens).  Parents tell the child to say no to the test.  And teachers pass the test to the child.   The child has conflicting authority pressing on them from both sides, creating a level of unnecessary confusion and stress.  Children are asked to conform and comply with their classroom community.  Yet, on this day, while classmates and friends all around are taking the test, the child who is “opting out” needs to say no and read a book.  Or in some cases, just sit there.   

For some children the notion of doing something different than the rest of the class, especially given the nature of the act as defiant, is impossible.  But to not do what mom or dad tells them they need to do is also impossible.  Leaving the child in an impossible situation.  Children as young as nine-years-old, are given this burden. For many nine and ten year olds and, for that matter, for many thirteen and fourteen year olds, who respect authority and want to be compliant, who want to be liked and want to be a part of the class community, being put in this position is untenable.  Asking this of a child is unfair.  It undermines trust.  It shatters partnerships. And it creates ludicrous stress.  For all involved.  Especially for our youngest. 

Don't get me wrong.  I honor our families that are choosing to opt-out.  It is a viable option in a difficult situation.  And I also honor our families who are choosing to opt-in.  Families are doing their best in a complicated situation.  I honor our teachers who want to do the right thing—who do not want to add unneeded anxiety to our youngest.  They want to teach.    I also honor our administrators who are working to provide an environment that supports the students taking the test and fills obligations around test modifications and testing mandates while creating a system of supports for our students not taking the test.   Above all, I honor our children caught in the middle.


Three years ago I wrote about testing anxiety as New York moved into the high stakes testing arena.  The words I closed with that blog unfortunately still ring true today… 

The anxiety levels are high for all concerned stakeholders.  I worry for the youngest of our stakeholders—our children, our students.  I worry that we are raising a generation of anxious children.  What a state?   Over a test?  Where is the sanity?” 



Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for dedicating space and time for teachers and teachers of literacy to come together to share ideas, practice and life experience.