There’s a part of me that is just tremendously old fashioned.

I believe in the value of hard work.
I believe in the potential of kids.
I believe in saying please and thank you.

Therefore, when it comes to the end of the school year, I really feel as if the professional effort we give to them boils down to one simple question: don’t our students deserve it?

Don’t our kids deserve the right to be challenged these last few weeks of school?

I mean really, aren’t our kids being short-changed enough in these tough times? After all, none of this is really about us anyway; it’s about serving them. (At least, it’s supposed to be.)

Now sure, it’s exhausting. And most of us are exhausted. But as much as we need new tools, expanded resources, more money and heightened brain-power in education, these last few weeks really only require one thing to be successful.

A dedicated teacher who holds the intention of ending the school year with a BANG!

If you want to get something done, you will get it done. And if you don’t, you won’t. At this point, I am not sure how much “teacher effectiveness” can be legislated. Or student participation. This time of year is about looking into your own heart and deciding what type of teacher you want to be.

Sure, you can coast. At this point of the school year, shortcuts seem more obvious and tempting than ever. My advice is to reach down deep and GO FOR IT one more time.

Assign a passion project. Something meaningful. Something meaningful to you (because you feel strongly that kids need to learn “this”). Something meaningful to them (so that the students feel empowered with a sense of self-directed choice).

Indeed, we are on summer’s doorstep. My advice: don’t just survive the school year, finish it!

Finish strong.

(FYI, I am going to host a free webinar on Finishing Strong tonight from 6:30 – 7:30 EST. If interested, you can sign up here.)

So for those of you who do not know, 420 became a slang term for smoking weed back in the 1970′s. There’s actually a really interesting – and funny – article here for those who want to learn a bit about the “history” of the invention of this name.

Tuesday was April 20th… i.e. 4-20.

Colleges struggle with students showing up at 4:20 p.m. on 4-20 to smoke a blunt and then go back to whatever it is that college kids do at 4:21 when they are stoned out of their minds.

Thousands and thousands of college kids do this, mind you… all across the nation.

But attendance on Tuesday was down in my classes/at my school on Tuesday, April 20th. And why?

When I innocently asked Tuesday, after taking role, “Where is everyone today?” one of my kids said, “Do you know what day it is?”

I do… but I didn’t put it together until then. (It was still early in the morning and I don’t really think like a 420 disciple.)

And being that we are on block schedule, I see my kids every other day. That means that on Thursday I will see the Tuesday absentees… and when I do see them, won’t I also be seeing them in a new light? I mean, I know kids smoke pot – I smell it in the halls quite often. However, ditching school to honor the Gods of Ganja?

For those kids on the fence for grades, don’t I now become all the more less likely to “cut ‘em some slack”?

Of course, I might end up wrongly assuming that Kid X was off getting high on Tuesday when they were home with a sore throat (from too many BONG LOADS!) but the fact is, how can my own assessment lens not be at least slightly tainted by such blatant ditching to go get blazed?

Besides, I took role well before noon. 420 doesn’t begin til 4:20.

Don’t pot smoking teens even know how to tell time anymore? School ends at 3:00 p.m. Why miss a class that ended well before 10:00 a.m.?

I know, I know… 420, Dude.

420

Arrrgghh!

There’s an entire industry out there promising to “teach you how to write”. And you know what? None of them can deliver.

Now sure, they can help. How much? Whose to say? But can they “teach you how to write”? Nah.

Of course, I learned this through firsthand experience. I have spent lots of time, effort and energy exploring all sorts of stuff. (And money, too — let’s not forget that.)

From writing retreats to college classes to books on the craft of writing to writer’s groups and on and on, I’ve spent years and years and years as a student of writing.

And the only person that has taught me “how to write” is… drumroll please… me.

Don’t believe the hype. (Or the advertisements in the back of Writer Magazine for MFA’s and the such.) Only you can fashion yourself into a writer.

This is because writing, in a way, is a lot like cave diving (a.k.a. spelunking). Until you get down in there and start exploring, you have no idea what you are going to discover about both the cave and about yourself.

People can describe it to you. People can sell you the gear. People can offer guidance, insight, inspiration, tools and maps but until you’ve strapped it up and spelunked you are not a spelunker. And once you become a splelunker, it’s natural to want to help others spelunk… but in your heart you know that until they actually do spelunk they will not be a spelunker.

And as we all know, you can’t make anyone spelunk.

(Gosh, what a fun word!)

Of course, by taking the classes, reading the books, surfing the websites, attending the conferences and wearing the special glittery underwear essential to the craft (hey, whatever works, right?) I’ve picked up critical bits and pieces all along the way.

And it’s the accumulation of all those bits and pieces that make for the writer’s education. But they don’t come from any one source and they certainly don’t exist in any “buy this one fantastic product now” type of package.

So yes, buy the books, take the classes, subscribe to the RSS feeds and sport the hot pink, lace writing thong… but also know that you will never be able to buy the act of being a spelunker.

Don’t ya just wish that somebody would just stand up and shout APRIL FOOL’S!!

Remember when we said we were cutting 5 instructional days off of this year’s academic calendar and 7 day’s off of next year’s academic calendar so that your students would a lot less time in class when really, we all know that they need more?

APRIL FOOL’S!!

Remember when we told you that pounding all your students with poorly constructed bubble tests would give us insightful assessment data that we could use to better direct classroom instruction?

APRIL FOOL’S!!

Remember, when we told you that we were going to bring equity to classrooms across the country by fairly funding schools across the nation so that we could provide the proper resources you need to do your jobs well?

Okay, we never told you that…but if we did you’d know to shout out APRIL FOOL’S!!

Methinks the Fools doth believe they are not acting as such — and that makes them not just April Fools but ones that wear this badge of honor all year round.

I think I’ve spoken before about how, as a writer, I spent years and years and years knocking out material only to be rejected and rejected and rejected.

I used to think, back then, that it was a sign of my own weakness, my moral shortcomings, my inability to be articulate and disciplined and witty and engaging and a good storyteller and so on. Essentially, I used to think that being rejected as a writer was a negative.

These days I realize how wrong I was.

Yes, being rejected hurts. Being rejected humiliates. Being rejected stings in a deep way that only someone who really lays it all on the line and then hears “Sorry Charlie, no thanks,” can understand. The “owch-factor” is brutal.

Matter of fact, the owch-factor is probably why so few people actually ever really attempt to reach for their dreams in this world… cause coming up short can be way more painful than not ever having tried at all because then you can always tell yourself, “I could have if I tried.” Which is Bullshit! btw.)

Of course, these days I am much more philosophical about rejection. Sure, it helps that I am now under contract for my tenth published book aside from having captained an immense curriculum project that represents the best teaching I have ever done. Plus, nowadays all kinds of major publishers are eager to work with me. Truly, I am one of the lucky ones. (And I work hard not to forget it.)

However, rejection is a giver of wisdom once you can learn to put your own feelings of having your ego bruised aside. Rejection teaches things. (BTW, I don’t know that success doesn’t teach things as well — I won’t go that far to say that the wisdom rejection offers is more profound than that of success because both, I’ve learned, are pretty profound if you are paying attention.)

But nowadays, I see more of a pattern to rejection. And it’s staring us all in the face if we pay attention.

For example, read this article.

Look at what Warren Buffet has to say about rejection in the piece.

“The truth is, everything that has happened in my life…that I thought was a crushing event at the time, has turned out for the better,” Mr. Buffett says. With the exception of health problems, he says, setbacks teach “lessons that carry you along. You learn that a temporary defeat is not a permanent one. In the end, it can be an opportunity.”

Mr. Buffett regards his rejection at age 19 by Harvard Business School as a pivotal episode in his life. Looking back, he says Harvard wouldn’t have been a good fit. But at the time, he “had this feeling of dread” after being rejected in an admissions interview in Chicago.

And the other night, I was burned out so I turned on the tv. (Rare for me.) Lo and behold the biography channel was showing an episode on Rodney Dangerfield. Literally, what I learned about the man amazed me.

Rodney Dangerfield was once Jack Roy, a comedian who never made it. For 12 years Jack Roy toiled. Finally, he got married and quit showbiz all together. For the next 11 years after that he sold aluminum siding. (Middle class successful, too.) But he kept writing and writing and writing jokes. Finally, he couldn’t stand his life anymore and hit the stage again… with a new name. (Yep, Rodney Dangerfield.)

He ended up on Ed Sullivan.
He ended up being one of Johnny Carson’s favorite guests. (25 million viewers a night at the time.)
He opened a comedy club, did a few movies (Caddyshack and Back to School being all time classics, IMHO) and basically, Rodney Dangerfield became the man we know today. (Or used to know – he passed a few years ago.)

As it turned out, Rodney was a writer’s writer as well. The guy made it look so easy, “I tell ya, I don’t get no respect…” but Rodeny didn’t even hit upon that tag line til he was in his fifties.

Over 30 years after he started in show business!

And all the pros in the comedy business talked about how Rodney was so precise and meticulate with his lines. How he’d re-write and re-write and re-write jokes.

In the tv piece, Rodney talked about how it would talk him 3 or 4 months to write 6 minutes worth of material for Johnny Carson.

Four months to write 6 minutes? Wow.

Rodney knew rejection.
Warren Buffet knew rejection.
It taught them success.

And if we can teach our students this, we will have taught them something of great value.

Don’t give up. There is an Outstanding Plus Side to Rejection.

I work hard at trying to provide learning opportunities that can be fun. For sure it’s a “special sauce” in my teaching methodology because I deeply believe that people try harder – and that there is more “stickiness” to education – when students are actually enjoying the work they are being asked to do.

Fact is, figuring out how to marry meaningfulness to rigor through “fun” is how I spend a lot of my prep time for lessons. Making school “enjoyable” is not a dirty word. (Though you wouldn’t know it if you look at the textbooks, the bubble sheet tests, or even the content standards. Sheesh, could they be more boring? Particularly the bubble tests. It’s like they overtly seek to disengage students as if triumphing over the dread of the content being tested is a academic skill for today’s kids.)

In my estimation, discounting the element of “enjoyability”, “meaningfulness” and “pleasure” is an Achille’s heel in ours school.

And rigor does not have to be sacrificed at the altar of student enjoyment. (Trust me, project-based learning where kids actually have to “create” something requires far more depth of knowledge and diversified skill sets than choosing A, B, C, or D 75 times in a row.)

But often it seems like we forget the perspective of the kids when we craft our lesson plans.

As a student, I want to sit in the room of a chemistry teacher who “blows something up” in order to bring a lesson to life.

As a student, I want to sit in the room of a history teacher who figures out a way for me to smell the stench of a blood-stained battlefield.

As a student, I want to be intrigued, challenged and engaged. I like surprises. I like experiences. I like it when I like what is going on around me.

And I don’t like it when I don’t. Life is interesting. School can be invigorating. The world is an amazingly complex, interesting and awe-inspiring place.

Don’t let it die on the classroom vine.

Engross your students. Gross out your students. But know that if you want to better reach your students, I say, don’t violate the law of basic kid-ness: they like to enjoy what they are doing.

After all, you catch more flies with honey, right?

So since I am in the mood to offer up so many thoughts as of late about how to re-shape K-12 education (heck, who isn’t doing it these days) I thought I’d chime in on the silliness of the manner by which we choose to pink slip 194 teachers in a district with about 900 educators.

We did it by seniority. Merit played no role. (Don’t worry, this is not a post about the budget cuts… though they will certainly see some action, I am sure, going forward.)

I repeat, quality of service played absolutely no factor in the decision making process of who got to keep their job and who got to canned. It all came down to one simple question: when were you hired.

And these are the deepest staff cuts I’ve ever seen.

No one asked, how well did you work? No one asked, to what degree did you serve the needs of the students? No one took into consideration things like work ethic, degree of content knowledge, extra-curricular duties, ability to differentiate for various learning styles, and on and on and on.

Chronology slapped down worthiness.

Add it all up and it means that this past week I had a chat with an ELA teacher I greatly admire, one who is but a few years into her career – and is a real dynamo with a bright future – and told her I’d be happy to write her a smoking letter of rec if ever she wanted one.

Best I could really do.

I mean this is a teacher we should be fighting to hold on to. I know it. The principal knows it. Heck, even the folks in the district offices might know it.

But rules are rules and length of service in public education trumps quality of service.

It’s folly. Plain and simple. No one lets a better employee go so that they can keep an older employee.

BTW, this is not ageism at play. Some of the best educators I know have multiple decades under their belt. Matter of fact, the leading ELA teacher on our campus (in my opinion) is a lady right across the hall from me and she’s at year 32 in our district.

Do you know what I was doing 32 years ago? Lemme tell, ya, it wouldn’t make momma proud.

Just think about what would happen to an institution’s degree of impact if they sustained such a silly policy over the long haul. I tell ya what would happen, it would inevitably crumble over the course of time due to erosion as a result of such poor decision making. (Anyone ever hear of a small industry once based in Detroit?)

Essentially, okay, I get that we are going through a fiscal crisis that is pretty much unprecedented in our lifetimes. But at least make the most intelligent moves you can make. We are compounding the impact of the budget cuts by not better adapting our policies to meet the needs of the current times. Truly, these types of decisions are handcuffing us from being able to do the best job we can possibly do at one of the most important jobs that there is to do in our country.

Society is counting on us to do it well.

And these are the rules by which we determine who gets laid off?

If merit plays no role in determining who stays and who goes, at some point the institution of public education will crumble.

This week, a few stones in the edifice fell. And it’s a sad thing to watch.

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.

Whenever any other adult walks into my classroom, things change. Why? Cause classrooms are fishbowls and when a new species enters the tank, the environment changes.

Sure, in some ways, things will revert back to normal. Especially if I, at the front of the room, keep an even keel, and keep rolling on with business as usual. (Which I usually do. I have sort of given up on dog and pony shows a long time ago… but when you are a young teacher and you think that your job is on the line when a “boss” walks in, you get tense and start ascending Bloom’s taxonomy as if climbing this academic Kilimanjaro was the only thing ever that you were hired to do. What? The VP is coming? Quick kids, start to SYNTHESIZE!!! It’s such a joke.)

However, kids who are normally energetic and enthusiastic will clam up and in my experience, the “high end” of class gets lost – or at least tamped down. Sure, a few of the most bubbling personalities will still participate and share their “voice” with the room but most kids will — especially when there are people in suits or business attire in the class — remain in their own little quiet, one-word response bubble.

Classes where the teachers don’t have classroom management though… they are often exposed. I mean a teacher that can’t get Jimmy to sit down when the principal is not in the room is a teacher that feels embarrassed and threatened when the VP is in the room watching Jimmy defy classroom protocol.

But the thing is, the VP’s often look at the teacher as if it’s “the educator’s” fault that Jimmy won’t sit down, be quiet and do some work. Why the VP doesn’t enter the room with the attitude that, “Hey, this is my school and I am here to support the teachers and if Jimmy won’t get on the bus, I need to do something about Jimmy,” is beyond me.

Uhm, maybe, the teacher could use some back-up?

But no, VP’s enter the room looking for “our” problems… as if the problems they see in their teachers’ rooms are not “their” problems as well.

Goodness how I’d love to see the tables turned on this one though. I mean how great would it be to see the entire school board walk into my VP’s office? I wonder if she would carry on in the same way as she would if it was just a P.E. teacher who had popped by.

And I wonder if they had only spent 7 minutes in her office (with a check sheet in hand, of course — the rubric for good Vice Principalling… I mean who hasn’t memorized that?) if she would feel as if she was being fairly evaluated and assessed by her “bosses”.

No notice. No prior awareness of what was even on the check sheet. Just BOOM! a surprise little visit. In, then out, then gone… the only lasting impression being an air of slight disapproval from each of the Board Members.

Of course, this folly bleeds upwards. Why? Because instead of supporting her, they come in with an attitude of “looking for her faults”. And she thinks to herself, “If you know so much, then you trying doing this damn job!”

Don’t you just love how everyone feels as if they can do your job better than you can do it yourself? Parents, principals, kids, they all think, What schmoe couldn’t do a better job than the schlub they currently have in room 6213?

And when I look at the work my school board does, my VP does, the science and math and history and P.E. teachers do, I pretty much think the same thing, don’t I.

Yep, I am a hypocrite. Don’t judge me but I will judge you.

Ya gotta love school mentality, right?