It’s time for the annual “Your birthday today” horoscope review! I have to admit I haven’t been paying much attention to the daily horoscopes as of late. I think it has something to do with the fifteen minutes I’d had to spend one morning working to convince my fourth graders that astrology isn’t an actual science, evidenced by how the horoscopes are relegated to the same page of the newspaper as the Sudoku puzzle.
Here’s what Prognosticator Holiday Mathis told me to expect last year:
"The next three months bring opportunities that seem straight from a sample sale -- odd shapes, colors, and sizes -- a creative challenge with fantastically lucky results. Couples will adventure in June and intertwine business to lucrative effect in September. Singles aiming to fulfill a business agenda accidentally catch feelings. Leo and Aries adore you. Your lucky numbers are: 4, 17, 22, 38, and 45.”
I’m not sure what creative challenge I had to face this past year, other than spending months planning out a manuscript and then proceeding to burn it to the ground, which I wouldn’t describe as a fantastically lucky result. I don’t remember catching a lot of feelings, though I did have a pretty relentless chest cold last winter, which didn’t feel great. And who knows what happened to all of those Leo and Aries folk.
Let’s take a look at what I have in store for the coming 365:
Your success secret: big aims and small plans (very growth mindset of you, Holiday). There’s a sense of forward movement through the entire solar return; (why do I care about the entire solar return? This is supposed to be about me) progress in any area brings you forward in others, even if it’s not immediately apparent (so basically as long as I do anything right, I can do no wrong). July and September will bring financial gains you can reinvest for a bigger payoff in December (sure they will). Libra and Taurus adore you (hey there, Libras and Tauruses: How you doin'?). Your lucky numbers are: 6, 45, 20, 19, and 38 (okay, this is now a second year for 38 being one of my birthday lucky numbers, and a THIRD STRAIGHT YEAR for 45! Seriously — 45?! Consider for a moment how ironic that is).
Okay. Let’s get this year started and see what the future actually has in store.
Sunday, May 21, 2017
Saturday, May 20, 2017
Album of the Week: Audioslave
Today is the beginning of a new feature on the blog: Album of the Week. I’m intending it to be more about revisiting albums from my past and writing about my relationships with them instead of just being a series of reviews. If you don’t understand what I mean by having a relationship with an album, then these Album of the Week posts probably aren’t going to be for you.
I had intended to start this series by with something else after a friend challenged me to step out of my comfort zone and get some dance music into the library. I did, and I’ll post about that next week. Instead, because of the events of the past week, I'm beginning with what I think would be a better, more appropriate place to start.
Audioslave, self-titled debut album, 2002
Chris Cornell died a few days ago, at the age of 52. I had one of his side projects, “Temple of the Dog,” on cassette back in the 90s, but had never been a fan of his band Soundgarden; for me, their sound had always been too muddy, even in the middle of the grunge period. All the same, I could still recognize he was a top-tier singer. When it was announced he’d formed a supergroup with the musician members of Rage Against the Machine, I figured that was worth checking out. Rage’s guitarist, Tom Morello, had established himself as a guitar hero early in his career, arguably more for his effects work and his divergent playing style than any particular virtuosity. When they said this new band, Audioslave, wasn’t going to sound like either Soundgarden or Rage, I was curious to see what they’d come up with.
The album had a heavy sound to it, like a post-millennial interpretation of classic rock. It was more about songs and riffs than it was about showy playing and effects, even though Tom Morello’s guitar was as instantly recognizable as Chris Cornell’s voice. While the songs didn’t all exactly sound the same, they were similar enough to make the band easily recognizable. The band were getting a lot of airplay on rock radio at the time, and for awhile it seemed like they had a shot at breaking out of the typical supergroup pattern of flaming out after only an album or two.
There were a few great songs on that first album that stood the test of time for me, but most faded out of even semi-rotation after the album cycled down and new music came along to take it’s place. “Shadow on the Sun,” “Exploder,” “Light My Way,” and “The Last Remaining Light” were among the standouts.
The one song from the album that resonated with me the most, and remains a favorite today, was “I Am The Highway.” As it happens, I was talking and planning with my teaching partner in her room after school one night last week. She was streaming a radio station from her hometown in Montana while we worked, and "I Am The Highway" came on. It was the first time I'd heard it in awhile, and it ended up stuck in my head for the rest of the night. The following morning I woke to the news that Chris Cornell had passed away.
In the tradition of so many great rock songs, the lyrics to "I Am The Highway" are just ambiguous enough to allow the listeners to interpret what the song means for themselves. In that spirit, I won’t get into what it means to me. Instead, I’ll let you listen and decide.
I Am The Highway
Rest in peace, Chris. Yet another of our musical heroes gone much too soon.
I had intended to start this series by with something else after a friend challenged me to step out of my comfort zone and get some dance music into the library. I did, and I’ll post about that next week. Instead, because of the events of the past week, I'm beginning with what I think would be a better, more appropriate place to start.
Audioslave, self-titled debut album, 2002
Chris Cornell died a few days ago, at the age of 52. I had one of his side projects, “Temple of the Dog,” on cassette back in the 90s, but had never been a fan of his band Soundgarden; for me, their sound had always been too muddy, even in the middle of the grunge period. All the same, I could still recognize he was a top-tier singer. When it was announced he’d formed a supergroup with the musician members of Rage Against the Machine, I figured that was worth checking out. Rage’s guitarist, Tom Morello, had established himself as a guitar hero early in his career, arguably more for his effects work and his divergent playing style than any particular virtuosity. When they said this new band, Audioslave, wasn’t going to sound like either Soundgarden or Rage, I was curious to see what they’d come up with.
The album had a heavy sound to it, like a post-millennial interpretation of classic rock. It was more about songs and riffs than it was about showy playing and effects, even though Tom Morello’s guitar was as instantly recognizable as Chris Cornell’s voice. While the songs didn’t all exactly sound the same, they were similar enough to make the band easily recognizable. The band were getting a lot of airplay on rock radio at the time, and for awhile it seemed like they had a shot at breaking out of the typical supergroup pattern of flaming out after only an album or two.
There were a few great songs on that first album that stood the test of time for me, but most faded out of even semi-rotation after the album cycled down and new music came along to take it’s place. “Shadow on the Sun,” “Exploder,” “Light My Way,” and “The Last Remaining Light” were among the standouts.
The one song from the album that resonated with me the most, and remains a favorite today, was “I Am The Highway.” As it happens, I was talking and planning with my teaching partner in her room after school one night last week. She was streaming a radio station from her hometown in Montana while we worked, and "I Am The Highway" came on. It was the first time I'd heard it in awhile, and it ended up stuck in my head for the rest of the night. The following morning I woke to the news that Chris Cornell had passed away.
In the tradition of so many great rock songs, the lyrics to "I Am The Highway" are just ambiguous enough to allow the listeners to interpret what the song means for themselves. In that spirit, I won’t get into what it means to me. Instead, I’ll let you listen and decide.
I Am The Highway
Rest in peace, Chris. Yet another of our musical heroes gone much too soon.
Friday, May 19, 2017
All the Flaws and Failings
I always get reflective toward the end of the school year, thinking about the good and the bad that’s occurred. I like to mentally wrap it all up and take time to consider what successes I can build on in the future, as well as what needs to work better in the coming years. I think it’s probably true that most teachers will minimize their successes over a year and instead think more about the students they feel like they've let down. I’m no different.
I was thinking about one particular student a couple nights ago. She’s one of the sweetest kids I’ve ever worked with. Eternally positive, always happy, hard-working, generous, respectful, gets along with everyone. She takes her time and works hard on her tests. She hands all of her homework in. She is an incredible artist; never, at any point in my life, have I been able to draw anything with the skill on display in the sketches in her drawing notebook (which she will only take out when she knows it’s an appropriate time). When other groups give their science presentations, she always comes up with thoughtful questions for them, the kind that prove how well she was listening. I could assign her to work in a group with either her best friends or people she barely knows, and she would make the best of it either way. She is one of those kids you sometimes wish you could clone twenty-nine times to have a full class of people exactly like her. She’s amazing.
The problem is she struggles academically. Without getting specific, there are legitimate reasons why some of the things we study are usually more challenging for her than they would be for many other kids. Not that this discourages her in any way; she has said so many things meant to encourage others that it’s clear to see how she truly lives and breathes a growth mindset.
According to her score on the state math test, her year was not successful.
She reminds me of a scene from “Mr. Holland’s Opus.” Mr. Holland’s friend, the gym teacher/coach, came to him with a concern about a student athlete. This kid was struggling academically and needed another credit or he wouldn’t be eligible to participate in a sport that might help him earn a scholarship. Mr. Holland agreed to let the kid into band and worked to teach him how to play the bass drum. Now, I was a drummer, from 5th grade until my senior year of high school, so I can tell you with authority that playing a bass drum is no more difficult than tapping your foot along with a song you hear on the radio. But this kid couldn’t figure it out, no matter how hard he tried. After some time, Mr. Holland told his friend he had given it his best shot, but he couldn’t teach him. His friend’s angry response was along the lines of, “If you can’t teach a kid as eager to learn as he is, then you’re a lousy teacher!”
I keep coming back to the idea of this little girl and her drawing. She clearly has the beginnings of a legitimate talent, which means there is some form of intelligence in there, and likely a lot of it. It might be manifesting itself in a different way than straight academic ability, but that doesn’t mean it hasn’t been there for me to work with. Anyone who can demonstrate that level of proficiency in something visual should have a good chance at succeeding in math, when so many concepts can be illustrated and modeled visually. This kind of idea is almost Teaching 101. Why did it take me until it was basically too late to realize what I’d had in front of me?
So one of my reflections this year: Where did I fail this girl? How could I have a student so hard-working and eager to learn not show the improvement she reasonably should have?
I thought it over and realized it wasn’t any one thing I did, but several.
I took for granted too often that her effort would be enough to pull her through.
I trusted her behavior and disposition too much. As long as she was working hard and happy, I let those qualities be enough to minimize any other red flags that I probably should have notice, instead devoting more time and energy to the reluctant and resistant learners in the class.
When she didn’t come to me with the questions she most likely had, I took that to mean I didn’t need to check in with her as often as I probably should have.
Why did I go after the students that presented the larger, and, for me, more frustrating challenges? Why did I want to win over the kid who sits in class with all the motivation of a bag of potatoes? Why did I work so hard to organize the kid who leaves a trail of belongings following him, like the dotted line paths in a Family Circus comic? Why did I keep coming back to reinforce the student who was just as likely as not to blow up screaming at me on any given day? Why did I plan how to gently encourage the student who had such profound math anxiety that she did all she could to physically retreat into her desk during class? Why did I sink so much effort into trying to build a relationship with the student who mainly sees school as where her social interactions take place, and the only role I had in her life was as a general inconvenience?
How did I miss the chance to take advantage of a clear form of intelligence and redirect it into a different discipline?
I know this girl learned this year. I know she enjoyed her time in my room. I know school was a great experience for her, and I know I helped her. I just don’t know if it was enough. I’m left feeling like I should have done more.
Twenty-five years into the career, and it’s clear I still have things to learn.
I was thinking about one particular student a couple nights ago. She’s one of the sweetest kids I’ve ever worked with. Eternally positive, always happy, hard-working, generous, respectful, gets along with everyone. She takes her time and works hard on her tests. She hands all of her homework in. She is an incredible artist; never, at any point in my life, have I been able to draw anything with the skill on display in the sketches in her drawing notebook (which she will only take out when she knows it’s an appropriate time). When other groups give their science presentations, she always comes up with thoughtful questions for them, the kind that prove how well she was listening. I could assign her to work in a group with either her best friends or people she barely knows, and she would make the best of it either way. She is one of those kids you sometimes wish you could clone twenty-nine times to have a full class of people exactly like her. She’s amazing.
The problem is she struggles academically. Without getting specific, there are legitimate reasons why some of the things we study are usually more challenging for her than they would be for many other kids. Not that this discourages her in any way; she has said so many things meant to encourage others that it’s clear to see how she truly lives and breathes a growth mindset.
According to her score on the state math test, her year was not successful.
She reminds me of a scene from “Mr. Holland’s Opus.” Mr. Holland’s friend, the gym teacher/coach, came to him with a concern about a student athlete. This kid was struggling academically and needed another credit or he wouldn’t be eligible to participate in a sport that might help him earn a scholarship. Mr. Holland agreed to let the kid into band and worked to teach him how to play the bass drum. Now, I was a drummer, from 5th grade until my senior year of high school, so I can tell you with authority that playing a bass drum is no more difficult than tapping your foot along with a song you hear on the radio. But this kid couldn’t figure it out, no matter how hard he tried. After some time, Mr. Holland told his friend he had given it his best shot, but he couldn’t teach him. His friend’s angry response was along the lines of, “If you can’t teach a kid as eager to learn as he is, then you’re a lousy teacher!”
I keep coming back to the idea of this little girl and her drawing. She clearly has the beginnings of a legitimate talent, which means there is some form of intelligence in there, and likely a lot of it. It might be manifesting itself in a different way than straight academic ability, but that doesn’t mean it hasn’t been there for me to work with. Anyone who can demonstrate that level of proficiency in something visual should have a good chance at succeeding in math, when so many concepts can be illustrated and modeled visually. This kind of idea is almost Teaching 101. Why did it take me until it was basically too late to realize what I’d had in front of me?
So one of my reflections this year: Where did I fail this girl? How could I have a student so hard-working and eager to learn not show the improvement she reasonably should have?
I thought it over and realized it wasn’t any one thing I did, but several.
I took for granted too often that her effort would be enough to pull her through.
I trusted her behavior and disposition too much. As long as she was working hard and happy, I let those qualities be enough to minimize any other red flags that I probably should have notice, instead devoting more time and energy to the reluctant and resistant learners in the class.
When she didn’t come to me with the questions she most likely had, I took that to mean I didn’t need to check in with her as often as I probably should have.
Why did I go after the students that presented the larger, and, for me, more frustrating challenges? Why did I want to win over the kid who sits in class with all the motivation of a bag of potatoes? Why did I work so hard to organize the kid who leaves a trail of belongings following him, like the dotted line paths in a Family Circus comic? Why did I keep coming back to reinforce the student who was just as likely as not to blow up screaming at me on any given day? Why did I plan how to gently encourage the student who had such profound math anxiety that she did all she could to physically retreat into her desk during class? Why did I sink so much effort into trying to build a relationship with the student who mainly sees school as where her social interactions take place, and the only role I had in her life was as a general inconvenience?
How did I miss the chance to take advantage of a clear form of intelligence and redirect it into a different discipline?
I know this girl learned this year. I know she enjoyed her time in my room. I know school was a great experience for her, and I know I helped her. I just don’t know if it was enough. I’m left feeling like I should have done more.
Twenty-five years into the career, and it’s clear I still have things to learn.
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