A cowboy named Bud was overseeing his herd in a remote mountainous pasture in California when suddenly a brand-new BMW advanced toward him out of a cloud of dust.

The driver, a young man in a Brioni suit, Gucci shoes, RayBan sunglasses and YSL tie, leaned out the window and asked the cowboy, “If I tell you exactly how many cows and calves you have in your herd, Will you give me a calf?”

Bud looks at the man, obviously a yuppie, then looks at his peacefully grazing herd and calmly answers, “Sure, Why not?”

The yuppie parks his car, whips out his Dell notebook computer, connects it to his Cingular RAZR V3 cell phone, and surfs to a NASA page on the Internet, where he calls up a GPS satellite to get an exact fix on his location which he then feeds to another NASA satellite that scans the area in an ultra-high-resolution photo.

The young man then opens the digital photo in Adobe Photoshop and exports it to an image processing facility in Hamburg, Germany. Within seconds, he receives an email on his Palm Pilot that the image has been processed and the data stored. He then accesses an MS-SQL database through an ODBC connected Excel spreadsheet with email on his Blackberry and, after a few minutes, receives a response.

Finally, he prints out a full-color, 150-page report on his hi-tech, miniaturized HP LaserJet printer, turns to the cowboy and says, “You have exactly 1,586 cows and calves.”

“That’s right. Well, I guess you can take one of my calves,” says Bud.

He watches the young man select one of the animals and looks on with amusement as the young man stuffs it into the trunk of his car.
Then Bud says to the young man, “Hey, if I can tell you exactly what your business is, will you give me back my calf?”

The young man thinks about it for a second and then says, “Okay, why not?”

“You’re a Congressman for the U.S. Government”, says Bud.

“Wow! That’s correct,” says the yuppie, “but how did you guess that?”

“No guessing required.” answered the cowboy.

“You showed up here even though nobody called you; you want to get paid for an answer I already knew, to a question I never asked. You used millions of dollars worth of equipment trying to show me how much smarter than me you are; and you don’t know a thing about how working people make a living – or about cows, for that matter. This is a herd of sheep.

Now give me back my dog.

Obviously, I am some kind of addict that needs an intervention. My break from blogging lasted a whole 2 days.

Wow, huh?

But there’s just so much buffoonery in our midst that to let it go unchecked, well… it simply feels un-American for me to do so.

Plus, it’s all about the kids. I mean that’s where I retreated. And while I had a score of “This is your life” type emails from folks telling me about how much they enjoy my blog or were sad that I had been driven into the cave of despair by campus bozos or how I had spoken to them in a way that caused them to spit coffee through their nose while laughing or made them want to punch their computer screen in rage, all in all it boiled down to me recognizing my own truth about why I do this through a piece of literature that I just brought into my own classroom yesterday.

It’s called THE TWO WOLVES… and if you are not familiar with it, please read on. (Though it might be one of the shortest pieces I bring into class, it also might be one of the deepest.)

Two Wolves

One evening an old Cherokee told his grandson about a battle that goes on inside all people. He said, “My son, the battle is between two “wolves” inside us all.

One is Evil. It is anger, envy, jealousy, sorrow, regret, greed, arrogance, self-pity, guilt, resentment, inferiority, lies, false pride,
superiority, and ego.

The other is Good. It is joy, peace, love, hope, serenity, humility, kindness, benevolence, empathy, generosity, truth, compassion and faith.”

The grandson thought about it for a minute and then asked his grandfather: “Which wolf wins?”

The old Cherokee simply replied, “The one you feed.”

And so my blog will now make sure to try and feed the wolf which makes the most sense to nourish. It’s a good lesson for all of us, no?

I am going to take a break from blogging for a bit. Getting spit on last week hurt and the truth is, it kinda all goes back to grandma’s old rule: if you don’t have something nice to say, don’t say anything at all.

With pink slips flying all around my school district – heck, all around our state – and our district preparing to hire me back next year at a pay cut of up to 12% (on top of the 3% we already took this year)… and I am one of the lucky ones cause a host of folks are being “chopped” from their positions… and the dragon of NCLB allowing the tests from ETS to be the tail that wags our entire institutional dog, well… I need to pause.

Will I rise like a phoenix from the ashes? Of course. My life is GREAT and I wouldn’t trade it for anyone’s. I love teaching, I love writing, I love working with teachers and students and I get paid to do it. My avocation is my vocation and how many people can really say that?

Yet, before the Phoenix rises from the ashes, well… people forget the part about what it’s like to descend and be mired in the ashes. There is a period of gestation when one is down and to blog my way through it, well… I just sense it could be a little ugly, cynical, jaded and dark.

Like our profession really needs that kind of energy right now.

BTW, it’s not like I don’t have some other writing to do. I am under contract for another new book of YA fiction for Disney, another new book of YA fiction for Penguin, the BookJams are just roaring right now (best teaching I have ever done) and I already have 2 new books for kids in the hopper due to be released in the next 12 months (meaning 4 in the next 24 months on top of the new BookJams as well).

So essentially, yes, I will be writing like a fiend and yes, I might return to blog sooner than I think (I feel a bit like an addict being that I have become so prolific over the past 14 months as a blogger) but, well… it all goes back to grandma’s rule.

I don’t really have a lot of nice things to say right now about school/education so I am not going to say them. However, this doesn’t mean there aren’t a heck of a lot of nice things that ought to be said.

But getting spit on was the straw that broke this camel’s back and right now, I am in a funk that requires a bit of time to sharpen the saw and figure out a few things.

Thanks for being a reader/responder/supporter/compadre… more to come… eventually.

I don’t want to shine a light on what is wrong with our school. It’s just too damn easy — and so many people, from the federal government and NCLB to the local politicians to the news media and so on — they all take their shots at us. It just ain’t that hard to find things wrong around here.

Especially if that’s all you are looking for.

And my principal — who is a really good guy who is trying real hard to change things for the better (and yes, they are changing for the better) — ends up being the fall guy all too often when people are looking to mete out blame for what happened to me.

To his credit, he came to me to see how I was doing later in the day, checked in with me, let me know that they are gonna be turning the screws on the ditchers with renewed energy and vigor right away and so on. Basically, as pissed as I am/was, he is infuriated.

Essentially, he’s a good egg who is aggravated and ashamed and wants to bring the pain to these “bad apples” that are really bringing down our school in a terrible way. (We all know it’s not “ALL” the kids. It’s not even most of the kids. In fact, it’s a small portion of the kids. But on a campus as big as ours is, a small percentage translates into a few hundred and a few hundred delinquent teens mixed into a few thousand, well… it’s all fun and games in a way to them.)

The more I think about it, the more I realize that in a way, being spit on by some rogue students in the middle of a class lesson is not even about me. I mean I can afford a new shirt. It’s about so much more — especially for so many other students and families and community members here. That’s what really gets to me.

And these thoughts all ultimately triggers the question, “Am I even making a freakin’ difference ’round here?”

It’s that thought which plagues me.

And if I give into that thought, if I succumb to the negative energy behind that sentiment, then I will be gone. The only reason I stay is because the work is meaningful and matters to me and I believe that I am being of true service to kids and other teachers. Sure, there’s the paycheck but I am lucky enough to have other ways of making a living in this world. (Heck, I have to augment the wage they pay me anyway to make ends meet – and my other day job, well… let’s just say that it pays better than minimum wage.)

But getting spit on, well… sometimes it takes Mother Mary to be a teacher in America today and I am no freakin’ Mother Mary.

As another teacher told me, “Hey, it could have happened to any of us.” She’s right… but I am not sure if that is a thought that provides any solace.

It’s amazing how confrontational this whole profession has become. It’s like being a teacher today will test your limits in all areas of your life and if the job can find your Achilles’ Heel, it’s gonna swing its sword.

And who does not have an Achilles’ heel? Heck, even Achilles had one.

I just got spit on. That’s right, spit on. By a student.

And no, they did not catch them.

See, this Saturday we are going to have a campus beautification day. Our school has been hit by a flood of graffiti as of late and the truth is, we need more than just the custodial staff to improve the campus environment.

So the administration or ASB or somebody came up with the idea of having a campus beautification day whereby we get the students, the staff, the parents, the community to come and paint and plant flowers and so on. Me, I am even planning to bring my 3 year old daughter down to help out.

So, in order to really “sell” the idea to my kids, I planned a whole lesson around this day. We wrote and chatted about graffiti, about why kids tag up campus, about the implications for those “good kids” who don’t want to be known for attending a “ghetto school” (their words, not mine) and so on.

And then, in order to bring a little more of the the lesson home, we took a walking tour, as a class, of campus.

Our school is an open-faced three story building designed by architects who absolutely had NO IDEA how to intelligently plan for an urban campus. There are nooks and crannies, blind corners and “hiding spots” everywhere. The school’s design plagues our school security personnel like mad.

Anyway, while standing in front of a “COMPITAS” piece of gang script — it must be a 15 foot piece of tagging in one of the central corridors of school — I was leading a thoughtful discussion with the students on the destruction we saw before us.

It was a fantastic lesson. 100% engagement from 100% of the kids in my class with plenty of vigorous debate as to the reasons for – and the implications of – what we saw in front of us.

That’s when a kid from either one or two stories above (I don’t know, I never saw him) spit on me. Right in the middle of my lesson.

And to boot, I was wearing a white shirt. Crisp, clean, bright. It’s ruined.

I can’t even begin to express how badly I feel/felt. Makes me want to quit. Literally, it makes me want to walk away.

I think everyone has a breaking point and the fact that I while I am out of class working to bring a lesson to life in a way that is unique, meaningful and important to a HUGE group of kids and… well, I get spit on by kids that are ditching, well… is that what teaching is today?

Is this the humiliation a person has to endure?

Is this some sort of symbolic event that I am too freakin’ stupid (or thick) to be able to read the tea leaves on?

Is this really what my job is?

You wanna know how the budget cuts impact our campus? We have less security which means we have more kids roaming free which means that we have less control over campus which means that teachers who actually do come to work and try and give their all to the kids get spit on.

Tough day. A day when I saw/see/feel my breaking point.

We all leave our jobs at some point. Retire. Move up. Move on. This is not the way I want to go out but at some point, enough is enough.

They are paying me 3% less money this year to do more work than last year. And next year they are about to offer me up to 12% less money to do even more work next year. But are those the things that break me? Well, they push… no doubt.

But I am 43 years old. Does retaining a bit of personal dignity not, at some point, matter?

I saw Jim Burke at CATE the other day and he mentioned how nicely blogging works within the scope of all the other writing he does.

And he particularly likes the groove he’s fallen into with it as of late.

Funny how I greatly enjoy blogging as well. Truth is, many people told me I should “blog” (whatever the heck that meant) as far back as 2007… but I wasn’t really into it. Wasn’t sure if I’d have anything to say or be able to stick with it or find any joy in it or what not.

Truth is, now that I have been at it for well over a year, I am a bit amazed at my ability to be prolific without really sacrificing any other meaningful part of my life.

Heck, I don’t know what I was doing before I was blogging – probably sleeping (LOL!) – but nowadays I find blogging to be a tool which keeps me sharp as a writer. After all, I must crank out almost 2,000 words a week just for blogs alone — and they can be about anything I want them to be about.

I’ve blogged about politicians, farts, assessment, writing, violence, books, dysfunction, friends, and on and on and on.

Heck, I’ve now even blogged about blogging.

If I do the math of it all, I see this: 2,000 words per week for at least 45 weeks this year is 90,000 words — that’s a 500 page novel I’ve written, easy! (A 500 page novel that I am, btw, not publishing. I mean who’s gonna want to read a book about farting politicians as they dysfunctionally craft policy for school assessment? I know, I know, I’d be surprised.)

The point is, more people should try it. Blogging keeps me sharp as a writer. Muscles that are used stay in better shape than muscles which are too well-rested.

I should know. I just finished yet another new children’s book which my agent read last night and loved… another notch coming in the belt, it looks like.

Blogging doesn’t come at the expense of other writing… blogging, ironically enough, seems to liberate writing.

Whoudda thunk-it?

The teacher down the hall from me hasn’t been at our school very long. And while I know her name, my high school has well over 150 educators and, some years, more than 4,000 kids on campus. Additionally, our professional turnover rate is exceptionally high and, truth be told, after years and years and years of seeing people come into our English department, and then leave our English department for one reason or another (i.e. the work is too hard, the environment is too challenging, this “inner-city teaching thing” is just not for them, California is just nut-so and they are moving back to a more sensible place, and so on) you just don’t get to know everyone the way you ought to until they have been around a couple of years and made it past the dragon.

What dragon? Let’s be honest, Title 1 schools can be a buzz saw and no matter how much you try to help someone, at some point each of us has to face down the creature that lives in the belly in the public school beast ourselves and determine, “Am I going to continue on here or am I going to move on to another world that makes more personal sense?”

There’s no one on my campus who has not confronted such a monster. Some of us confront it monthly.

So when I saw the teacher down the hall at the CATE conference this past weekend, my eyes lit up.

She was there because she wanted to be there. No Dept. Chair muscled her into a Saturday attendance. No one bullied her into seeking some professional development to improve her classroom craft. No one mandated that she do some extra hours to stay job-eligible. She was at CATE because she paid her own way to attend. Nope, the school district didn’t cover her conference fee (a few hundred bucks) or her transportation or her parking or her lunch. (BTW, how many superintendents ever visit a conference on their own dime? Don’t ya get the sense that if they even had to even pay for their own bottle of water they’d take a pass and say, “Naw, not worth it”? But teachers… another story entirely.)

Just by seeing her at the conference, I feel closer to the teacher down the hall now. I feel as if she has faced the “dragon” and found a way to say, “Bring it on, Mo Fo’, cause I got something for ya, too!”

It really takes that kind of attitude in a way to do what it is we do everyday. And even though I try to be supportive of all the other teachers on campus, I think I am going to make sure I give a little “extra oomph” to helping the teacher down the hall. There are a few personal books from my own professional development library she might want to read, there are a few “mazes around our campus” I might be able to help her better navigate, maybe she just needs someone who has been around here for a while to acknowledge the good work she is doing in a public way, like at our next department meeting. Who knows?

But schools help people who help themselves. It’s a rule that is just as true for teachers as it is for students.

When Peers Face the Dragon and Come Out on the Other Side, you can see it in their eyes.

If a kid leaves school without the ability to comprehend Ralph Ellison, well… it pales compared to the consequences of a kid not being able to read their credit card agreement.

Why does that not seem more obvious to people who wield power over the directions of our school curriculum?

Why do we not spend more time teaching “functional literacy” to our kids?

If I was a conspiracy theorist, I’d say it was because this is how we keep the lower socio-economic class in the lower socio-economic rungs of society. Upper socio-economic parents teach their kids the tenets of managing money, the financial rules attendant to cash. (Well, they certainly try but there are rubes to be taken to the cleaners at all levels of society.)

People who do not know this stuff, however, do not have the ability to teach it to their kids. And worse, they [incorrectly] presume that our public schools will show this stuff to their offspring.

But we don’t. Hmm, how many folks with poor literacy skills have been duped into under-buying phone plans so that they end up getting $860 phone bills because they thought txt messages were included with unlimited talk time?

Okay, could happen to anybody.

Hmm, how many folks with poor literacy skills have been duped into signing up for one of those “no payments for six months” promotions then fallen victim to the fact that the rate skyrockets to 28% and they backdate the interest owed to all the way to the date of original purchase?

Okay, could happen to anybody.

Hmm, how many people have been tricked into buying one of those “gift cards” to a superstore in their local supermarket (i.e. Best Buy, Staples, Target, and so on) and not realized that there is a 4% processing fee so that for every dollar you spend on the gift card, the recipient only gets 96 cents worth of goods.

Okay, could happen to anybody.

Hmm, now ask yourself… How many people have fallen victim to all three of the above scenarios?

Uhm waiter, more literary canon please.

Funny but English teachers will go to war to defend the canon. (Just you dare try to remove TKAM or Huck or Gatsby… you’ll have to pry it from my cold dead hands.)

But teach basic day-to-day functional document interpretation. That’s not for English teachers who teach reading, is it? I mean isn’t their some kind of business ed class or home ec book that covers that?

When we teach reading, we teach Reading with a capital R… even when so many of our kids are in desperate need of learning how to read all the lower case r stuff.

I am at CATE today, at the The California Association of Teachers of English Annual conference. I love this event. Why?

1) Awesome authors.
-Nikki Grimes
-T.A. Barron
-Michelle Serros
-Joy Harjo
-Sonia Nazario
-Junot Diaz

2) Tons of folks sharing best practices
-Writing workshops
-Reading workshops
-New Media workshops
-Assessment workshops
-Workshops on how to do a Workshop, they have it all!

3) The Exhibit Hall
-Call me a dork but cruising the Exhibit Hall is one of my favorite things to do at conferences. From the t-shirts I buy (how many people here own an ERACISM t-shirt… that guy’s gotta be a millionaire by now) to checking out the latest and greatest that publishers have to offer — and seeing how badly some of the stuff stinks. I mean some materials that people today are peddling just look so old and tired and “been there, done that” don’t they, to the books I inevitably purchase (I always leave carrying more stuff out than I brought with me in), I just LOVE the Exhibit Hall!

4) The friends, old and new
-CATE is really such a warm place. It’s the people that make this conference rock! Getting to see folks I haven’t seen in a year (since last year’s CATE conference usually) is always fun. But the truth is, I just love chillin’ with English teachers. They make the wittiest of references, too. Gotta stay sharp to run with this crowd.

Much love to CATE.

And a great many thanks to all the hard-working people who toil so fabulously to put it on year after year.

The real problem with reading is what you end up learning as a result of being a reader. For example, this week I learned that…

According to the NY Times, there is a list of the “Seven Least Trusted Banks” in our country. Not wanting to get screwed in case their is some kind of financial crisis, I use two banks these days instead of one.

Smart consumer that I am, my banks are numbers 1 and 2 on the list (Bank of America and Chase). However, my primary bank is their number two and their number two is my number one. That’ll teach ‘em.

Maybe I should just post my secret pin number on this ning?

In another story, I read that American Airlines is now going to charge $8.00 for airplane blankets. They say it’s due to economic conditions.

Hmm, I wonder how long before their is a memo circulated to all pilots to set the internal cabin thermometer to 47 degrees.

If American Airlines really wants to make money, they will pass out free brownies to every passenger that comes on board, lace them with horse laxative and then charge two bucks for entry into the bathroom, two bucks for toilet paper, two bucks for soap to wash your hands… and then $10 bucks to skip to the front of the line.

They’ll have mid-flight bidding wars for access to the john! Talk about working the bottom line.

And finally, Blue Cross has raised my wife’s health insurance premium a whopping 38%, over one hundred dollars per month.

No joke here. This is real. Congress, however, is investigating this greed. But when we read that bill we saw the real problem with reading: you comprehend when you are being royally screwed.

But no, we don’t need health care reform.