Reflections While Walking

Where I live, we have been having periods of very hot and humid days, so instead of walking outside, I have walked on the treadmill in my basement. A couple of days ago, we got a little bit of a break from the heat and humidity, so I returned to the outdoors for my daily walk. I live in a subdivision that doesn’t have streets in a grid with sidewalks. We have streets and paths that wind around man-made ponds, parks, and playgrounds. 

As I was out walking, I realized there was a huge difference in my mental well-being, spirit, and energy being outside for a walk. Something about being outside allows me time to reflect, think, and ultimately calms my mind. Living in a pandemic means being confined to my house for long periods of time. I have rarely left my house for weeks at a time. So being outside—hearing the birds sing, seeing the blue sky, feeling the shade of the trees, and smelling the dampness of the air—fills my soul that has been emptied from the constant confinement.

I started to reflect on various periods throughout history and what it must have been like for others who were confined by circumstances beyond their control or because they were denied their freedoms. For example, how did slaves fill their souls? How did Jews survive in concentrations camps? Although I have been confined to my house for four months, it is not the same as those who survived confinement throughout history because I have still enjoy many of the comforts that my white privilege has afforded me. When I consider the atrocities that have occurred throughout history that caused some to be confined, my heart breaks for so many. There are times when I simply cannot understand how one human being can do the things that have been done to another human being. And, I am curious how those who have survive those confining atrocities filled their souls. We need those voices now—the world needs to fill, to heal, its soul. 

Then my mind wandered to what school would be like in the fall. Several weeks earlier, I completed an intensive week-long institute on reading. The learning was amazing, but sitting, confined, in a chair on my computer all day for 8 or 9 hours straight was really difficult—and I am an adult. How will kids sit for hours at a time confined to a chair in school? I could at least get up and go to the bathroom or get a snack when I needed a short break, but in school this fall that will probably not be an option for our kids. I was so relieved when the week of learning was over, because I wasn’t sure how long I could maintain that level of confinement (in my chair) and engagement. How will our kids be able to maintain this level of confinement and learn for months on end? As much as I believe that the best learning takes place face-to-face, and that remote learning was far from ideal, I cannot believe in-person school will afford us any of the benefits we typically enjoy with face-to-face learning. I believe teachers and students will feel to traumatized to feel safe OR to learn. 

Then I started thinking about how we help kids feel safe and engage in the process of learning. My brilliant friend, Ellin Oliver Keene, wrote a book Engaging Children: Igniting a Drive for Deeper Learning K-8. After spending hours observing children, Keene identifies how kids move from compliance, to participation, incited by motivation (What’s in it for me?), and fully absorbed in engaged learning (What’s in it for us?). Within engagement, she developed a theory that includes four pillars: intellectual urgency, emotional resonance, perspective bending, aesthetic world (think, feel, believe, act). I started thinking, how can educators use Keene’s theory of engagement and our current life situation to help kids feel safe despite the traumatic circumstances and learn? For me, when I am engaged in authentic learning (thinking, feeling, believing, acting), I feel like I have some control over a situation which affords me some level /feeling of safety. I think it can be done—instead of avoiding our life situation we can use it to teach content and provide kids with some sense of control and safety. 

But engagement, high levels of engagement, cannot be sustained all of the time. Engagement is kind of like bi-polar disorder, the higher the level of engagement, the hard the crash and burn. I have experienced this firsthand after completing my dissertation. Whoa! —talk about crash and burn! Something Keene did not address in her book but is incumbent upon educators to teach children is finding balance. We need to explicitly teach how to reach and sustain engagement, but we also need to instruct students in how to find balance and advocate for their needs. When we reach and sustain high levels of engagement, we also need to counter that with moments of rest and calm and sometimes those moments are found in simply being compliant. 

I was left with the question, how to I help children, and colleagues, find ways to advocate for themselves when they need balance—from the confinement of their chair in the COVID-19 classroom? If we are going to sustain teaching and learning, we are going to need to find ways to balance periods of intensity with periods of calm. I guess it is time to go for another walk. 

Who Lives, Who Dies, Who Tells Your Story – Hamilton, Reflection Part 1

“Who Lives, Who Dies, Who Tells Your Story?”—Hamilton

Last week, I participate in the Teachers College Reading and Writing Project (TCRWP) Reading Institute, which is based on the Calkins Units of Study. It was an intense week and powerful learning experience. It was a week of story. Even though I was SO excited to be a part of the institute, I was also sad that because of the pandemic, I had to participate virtually. I was very much looking forward to attending in person, so I could also spend some extra time in New York City. Friday after I completed the institute, instead of watching the Broadway show “Hamilton” live, I watched the made-for-television version on Disney Plus. Even though I was not in the theatre, the brilliance of the performance—the history, music, lyrics, choreography, staging, energy, diversity of the cast—took my breath away! The performance was so compelling that I wanted to know more about the actors, the historical figures, the time period, the perspectives—I wanted more of the story! 

The next morning while I was waiting for my coffee to brew, I began scrolling through my social media feeds. Of course, I saw others who had also watched “Hamilton” the night before and were commenting on the show. To my surprise, some of the comments were condemning the fact that the story had not been told from a different perspective, namely the perspective of a BIPOC (Black, Indigenous, person of color) historical figure. Since I have been actively working to listen, learn, and develop my liberatory consciousness, I put my educator hat on and took some time to reflect on these comments. I mulled around four ideas in my mind:  the deficit model, balance, character development, and compelling stories. 

One reason our educational model is oppressive and needs to be reimagined is because it is grounded in a deficit way of thinking. We often identify and label our students based on their deficiencies and then seek to determine how we as educators can “fix” those deficiencies. Instead, educators need to shift their perspective to celebrate cultural differences that can support critical thinking and academic achievement. So, when I read the comments criticizing “Hamilton,” my immediate thought was, are we going to find fault with every story? Are we going to view every story from a deficit perspective? Or, can we use stories, even some of the most racist stories, to support critical thinking and academic achievement? 

There needs to be a balance. Stories are not just racist or antiracist. Each story falls on a continuum and each person has a unique transaction (Rosenblatt, 1978) with story. I think of all of the training I have had that reminds me that I need to teach the reader (process) and not the book (product). As an educator, I can instruct my students on how to develop their liberatory consciousness by presenting a variety of stories (not the same as endorsing a story) and teaching them the critical process of becoming aware, analyzing each story, taking action, and being accountable (Love, 2010). My goal is to use story to meet students where they are on the continuum of their liberatory consciousness and move them one step closer to transformation and liberation. So, educating students on the process will serve them whenever they encounter story and where-ever they are in their process of becoming liberators. I worry that operating with a deficit model of story will lead to censorship and that is a slippery slope that leads all of us away from our goal of inclusive democratic ideals which include freedom of speech. 

The most compelling stories are like strong complicated characters—they are not black or white, right or wrong. They are grey, complex, and messy. They provide us with mirrors and windows (Bishop, 1990) into the best of humanity and the worse of humanity. We learn best, when we explore all the faucets of character and story. When we understand story within a particular setting or time. When we read stories from many perspectives to listen and learn instead of to pass judgment. Ultimately, that is how we will create a more inclusive society. When we acknowledge the devastatingly awful aspects of our history AND the brilliance that lies in each of us. When we learn from our mistakes, even the worst of them, and use those lessons to provide hope so we can take action for a better future. 

Who lives? Who dies? Who tells your story? Hamilton was a brilliant and compelling story! The danger is not that it wasn’t told from the perspective of a BIPOC historical figure, the danger is in letting that be the single story (Adichie, 2009). For me, part of the brilliance of Hamilton was in the fact that it compelled me to learn more about the various stories that are woven into the tapestry of our history. It compelled to write and tell my story—regardless of how imperfect a story it may be. Who will tell your story? And, when it is told, who will listen with an open mind and an inclusive heart?