Thankful to Franny for Sending Me This Video on a Sunday Night Before a Challenging Week (especially as we work with @Trevornoah's BORN A CRIME)

A year ago I listened to Trevor Noah's Born a Crime: Stories from a South African Childhood on a visit to my parents in Syracuse. At the time, I remember cursing myself that I went audio on this book, because I wanted to pull over the car and take notes, to dog-ear pages, and to highlight sections for work with teachers and young people. 

Soon after, I learned it was being adapted to young readers and waited for a reason to pull it into a course. Well, Fairfield University offered me an undergraduate course, a beginning class for Exploring Education and I knew I wanted to continue doing the in-school service work with wonderful teachers across southern Connecticut.

I added it to my courses this semester. 

I know that if I am going to teach a book, I am going to work with the paper copy. I am so glad I did this and look forward to conversations over the next few weeks with graduate students, undergraduates, teachers, and sophomores in high school. 

I've never been to Africa and have commonly said, throughout my life, Africa has come to me. I've been working with and for Hoops4Hope since my 20s (love my cousin Mark), teaching Things Fall Apart, Waiting for the Rain, and Cry the Beloved Country for a long time, and of course dedicated my academic life to working with young men relocated to the United States from all over Africa - from nations with different histories, different politics, different conflicts, but a common denominator: European imperialism and colonialism.

I've also dedicated my life to work in K-12 schools, particularly those that serve the heterogeneity of our world. Trevor Noah's book is a fantastic edition to all of this,

• his humor and poignant insight are unmatched,
• the story is remarkable (as Jason Reynolds points out),
• the complicated and vicious race relations in S. Africa parallel the same ones in the United States - a result of colonialism and imperialism (and I am glad he makes the point about Nazi Germany versus Germany today. We Must Teach History),
• kids (heck, even me) love the impish childhood,
• the message is spot on: education + reflection + questioning + critical thinking = knowledge
• it is a story that vaults the globe forward, and not backwards like some are doing in today's worl. Hate is hate is hate. Ignorance is ignorance is ignorance.

Last night, I was signing off my life for another day when Franny Bitman of Greenwich High School shared a video she found while looking for data and knowledge about Ukraine for her own sanity and the students she teaches. I'll take the coincidence that it brought her to a video about Ubuntu. I'm forever an optimistic, I'm in favor of democracy and human togetherness, and I encourage all of us to be more empathetic, caring, giving, and loving - it's the only way.

I Don't Recommend 14-Hours Behind a Laptop on a Saturday When You Wear Trifocals. By 11 p.m. Everything Before Me Was Out of Focus

I'm trying not to fall in the last February angst that I see landing upon literacy colleagues across the country like it's a fog. I realize the work ebbs and flows, and at times there's just no way to catch up, even when you sacrifice every second of your weekend to stay on top of the game. K-12 and University teaching never ends. There's no clocking in or clocking out - you can only do what is necessary to stay afloat. In K-12 schools, administrators work just as hard as teachers. In higher education, you occasionally catch glimpse of an administrator and they always assure faculty they work much harder than everyone else on campus. It's an illogical trust that goes with the territory. I will likely go to my grave curious what those positions entail, especially when they don't teach, don't seem to fight for faculty, and rarely interact with students. They are paid well, though.

Saturday was successful, I suppose. I did walk Karal and toward the end of the evening reread half of Trevor Noah's Born a Crime: Stories from a South African Childhood. It really is a phenomenal book - of course, I'm partial to comedy, but the realities of race in S. Africa is as disturbing at U.S. history...I know it is safe to say that racism was globalized by European colonization - made almost universally problematic for Black individuals in any nation. When you read about S. Africa you simply think, "How could this ever be allowed to happen?" But then I see our administration at Fairfield University and simply think, "Oh. Not too hard to imagine. There's variations of it everywhere."

Good thing I wasn't driving last night. Everything was blurry when I finally decided to give it a rest. The good news is my laptop sure does hold it's charge. Even after an entire day typing away, I still had a quarter of the battery left.

I'm likely to repeat the same strategy today, as I need Tues/Wednesday classes finished by the end of the day, so I can use Wed night and Thursday to prepare for the MLK Youth Leadership Academy. This is my 9th year as host for the middle school conference in collaboration with the MLK Convocation at Fairfield University, a task that Dr. Yohuru Williams passed onto my in 2013. I was invited, watched him in action, then took the lead from there. I miss him every day as he, Rony Delva, Coach Sydney Johnson, and the incredible Todd Pelazza were always loyalists, always at my side and supportive of the work. Rony are the only ones left...can't say we've ever seen Deans or their superiors at the event. There's always a story, though. The optics to upkeep the facade. 

So, I'm starting today to rubbing my eyes and ready to focus once again. It's all I can do. There's so much more to be done. And I will continue to fight for what I know is right and what I believe in.

Still Riding on My 50th. Ice Shoveled (Damn Adulthood), Weekend, and Seriously Thinking about Being Generation X...Classes 1985 to 1992.

I guess it is wild to be at an age where reflection is still a key to figuring out what it's all supposed to mean. I spent a snow day wrapping up projects, beginning new ones, and ending in nostalgia as a result of photographs (thanks, Rose Brock), and now I am thinking historically and as a documentarian. What would it look like to have a collage of school-aged photographs aligned to 'where we are now' - the K-12 stuff, skip the 20s, 30s, 40s, and boom, the 50s? The formative years are the first 18, but there's so much life that follows. What do we think now about all that growth then?

There was nothing more ritual than end-of-the-year yearbooks, the photographs, signatures, and bonanza of socializing over grade-stamped capsules of time, and I wonder if this generation has such habits. We were pre-video, maybe some with video cameras, but our years were defined by sending film to the local drugstore to be developed and returned a week later, with half not coming out. Who we were depended on what came back to us after a week of waiting (and if we could scrape up enough money to print what we captured from our cameras).

I am, because we are. But who were we?

I was thinking about this last night looking at yearly imprints from a graduate in the class of 1989, and it hit me....different states, different regions, different rituals, but part of a period of time that is likely to be drastically different than adolescents experience today. Same drama. Same angst. Same rebellion. Same mischief, but we were team MTV, cassette tapes, out-of-town-parent parties and definitely not where we are today with Twitter, Tik Tok, Facebook, and 24/7 embarkment of images, opinions, and news. Was it innocent? Naivety? Luck? Has it all just become tragic?

I honestly think about kids today in the same location as we once were and wondering, "what are the similarities? The differences? And how does history and location play a role in the narratives we tell ourselves?" I'm really curious.

I have fond memories of the nostalgia shared by Butch and Sue as we went through their yearbooks giggling at the photographs, stories, and ridiculousness that came from the way such images entrapped a period of time. Now, at 50, I'm thinking, "Shit. We had it, too." I'm simply mesmerized and curious where my generation currently is, post Big Chill, St. Elmo's Fire, Party of Five, Beverly Hills 90210, Cosby's, Roseanne and how cable turned to this world of Netflix. 

Dang. I want these stories. Not the ones we told when we were there, but how we think of them right now. 

I mean, I was there for The Real World,  followed by Road Rules, and at the time, I thought we'd always be in our early 20s, coming of age post baby boomers, hippies, and yuppies. I also think we were the last generation of innocence....or were we?

I guess I am thinking, arrogantly, that our small pocket of people...1985 to 1992 (let's give it 7 years of time) really are united by unique history. If I didn't have to teach, work, and be committed to what I am, I'd really like to set out to explore this. 

Given the chaos of right now, might I say that we were the last safe and sheltered generation? Is there a point where suddenly times turned traumatic and outrageous as they are right now. We were pre-Jerry Springer, but now it seems every day is another episode of dysfunction. I want this documented, as I'm sure every generation does.

Always an Honor to Score Writing Portfolios of Juniors at Joel Barlow High School in Redding, Connecticut - This Should Be in Every School

When I came to Connecticut in 2011, I was invited to score portfolios at Joel Barlow High School. Here, a team of educators, from administrators all the way to the content areas , were committed to solid writing instruction and holding a high composing bar for their school writers that remains admirable, college and career-oriented, and replicable, today. 

This should be the tradition in every school.

I've always felt nostalgia for my Kentucky portfolio days while I'm there working through student-created portfolios and applying their writing to a well-established, useful, and practical rubric. Teaching kids to be writers and giving them the opportunity to share their work with readers is the greatest assessment (both formative and summative) a school can do for their kids. It's a test of who they are, where they are, that doesn't come from the money-making industry or superficial insight our standardized tests offer. It's authentic and real. 201 students treated with integrity, and given opportunity to write in a variety of genres - "where words come to life."

Kudos to them. All of us in literacy should be flocking to schools like Barlow to understand how they maintain such excellence in their schools and, better yet, how this requirement sets up their students for success upon graduation. 

This is what we once had in Kentucky before politics came into play and they destroyed the beauty of an era - a statewide initiative that was the awe of the nation, toppled by grumpy, ignorant, and short-sided neanderthals (I'm sorry...I kind of like neanderthals. Don't mean to insult them).

I left yesterday having my spirit rejuvenated and optimism restored. The young people at this high school are set up for success and the work should be replicated everywhere. Interestingly, too, the faculty remains joyful. In a period of time when teachers are waving white flags everywhere, the teachers at Barlow are proud (and supported) with the work they do. They should be.

It's simply wonderful. And it's happy.

When a Student of Yesteryear Sends You a Photo from Two Decades Ago, You Wonder, "Hmmm. I Imagine They Finally Painted Over that Last Fragment of Who I Once Was."

10 years ago, Bambi, a deer, was touring the school, her alma mater, before she moved to England. She left the Brown 10 years earlier, so 20 years passed. She snapped a photo of a poem I wrote that Jessica Stauble artistically recreated outside the class, room 301. I learned a long while ago that the poem I wrote for the tea room and that showcased student talents and artwork was white-washed for  new use. I laugh, too, because it was a lunchroom for students and a space that teachers rarely used except for after school meetings. Jessica transformed the room into an art space and began a tradition that other students followed. 

But that's all gone. Changes is inevitable. There are two types of people in this world: artists and lovers of creative expression, and those that work against them.

In this hand - a universe / possibilities for forgotten dreams / always lying in truth moons / suns / the ones who fly by the fires of forgotten caves / cry through love rants and raves / trying to grasp the stars in the brown landscape of tomorrow...tomorrow...and tomorrow.

As the Taliban once wiped away Buddhist monuments and statues, so do administrators  to mark their territory like dogs upon a fire hydrant.

I am thinking about this today because I submitted a writing piece that required me to look back at two decades of journals, and I've been thinking about how stories transcend any one place, especially if invested onto lined pages. Then, of course, this photo showed up as a memory on her Facebook timeline. It just makes me stop to think about the fragility of any moment...it's beauty...the the unknowing of its effect on the days to follow.

That was then. This is now.

20 years

And who knows now?

Such a little tale is insignificant in the larger stories of the world. I awake to news that Putin invaded Ukraine. We shall see if the Western ideology of democracy can withstand a new world order. Civilizations are civilizations. Let's see how this plays out. 

tou·ché, little sister, tou·ché. As soon as the bathroom mat purchased dissolves and disappears, these are definitely the next step for anti-slip protection

My little sister ordered these to come with the first aid kid and the 1972 bourbon glass, but the company messed up, so the joke had to be a little delayed. Still, it's really funny, and I really could use the non-slip bathroom protection. I don't need to recreate another incident like two weeks ago. Although humorous, it really is a great gift and I appreciate it. 

Wow, it's Wednesday again. That happened fast. Today, we'll be working with 75 5th graders before I move to work with 128 juniors (yes, I'm jam-packed today). I just hope I can get to point A from point B without falling asleep. There's a lot of obligations needing to be fulfilled. Of course, it's all for student writer, K-12 teachers, and the magic of what kids can do when adults invest in them. 

I just wish it didn't start at 8, causing me to leave my house at 6:45 a.m....

Ah, but it is what it is.

I spent yesterday on campus, alone in a Dean's Office that remain empty, creating 150 Cultivated Women's Collective notebooks for the participating schools in southern Connecticut. I did see colleagues online and was assured about all the ways our leadership was supporting us, helping us, keeping us in mind, and doing more work than we can possibly imagine. 

We also learned that it is hard, at time, to be motivated when it rains, clouds are gray, and one lives with seasonal dysfunction disorder. I get it. These days are dark. 

But, I'm finding the light. I get to work with teachers and kids today and that is what I signed up for, and what I hope to do for the rest of my life. 

We got this Crandall. We have to.

By Golly, I'll Be Damned Before You See My Wordle Achievements (I Don't Play), but I Am Mighty Proud of My 259 Point Game Play on Words with Friends (So There)

I know I should quit. I'm addicted. I've always been a scrabble fanatic, so when Words with Friends came onto the scene, of course I began playing. I start my day waking up on the game, and I put myself to bed playing (a main culprit for why I spend so many hours on my i-Phone). I have to tell myself that in the old world, I'd play Scrabble five or six times a year. Now, I play nine or ten people a day.

It's excessive and I am not happy with the hours I put in. 

But I love the magnets my sister made for me when she beat me and they hang on my office door. I also get excited when I line words along to triple word scores because, well, you win on one word-play. It rarely happens, but when you do, you post it on your blog.

Happy Tuesday. Lucky for me, it's a Monday on Tuesday day at Fairfield University, so I don't have to teach my evening class, but just have the life sucked out of me while attending campus meetings. Tomorrow morning, however, it's a full blast day with 5th graders again, followed by portfolio scoring for the rest of the week in Redding, Connecticut. 

As a result, I needed to spend all of yesterday getting prepared for the bonanza ahead. A teacher always needs to have everything prepared for every second of the day, because as soon as they sense disorganization, they go in for the kill. I'd rather keep everything moving forward every second I'm with them.

And so I'm hoping for a 'saved' week and not an 'unsaved' one. We shall see. 

Time to kick it off in 3...2...1

The Goal of Fall 2021 Was to Bring My Teachers to Louisville and to Participate in NCTE, in Vietnamese Food, and to Try Some Brough Brothers. Didn't Happen, But...

Well, this didn't occur because of Covid and online conferencing. Even so, in the back of my mind I have been wanting to taste Brough Brothers Bourbon Whiskey, but they don't sell the product in Connecticut. I was sent teasers from friends in Kentucky, California, and Tennessee, but could not get a taste in the Nutmeg State. Instead, I figured I'd have to way until I visited the bluegrass once more

Then Sue McV surprised me, and a birthday present arrived. On Saturday night, Leo, Dom, and I gave the bottle a shot.  Well, we didn't do shots. We sipped the bourbon neat and on rocks. It made for a wonderful celebration while bopping one another on the head with a blow-up cave club. We drink booze. Monosyllabic talk and bourbon are a way of life.

This is all to say that I finally got to try the bourbon and I believe there's a definite taste of Brown School in the mix. I have to get my local stores to carry it. It would make Connecticut living a little bit smoother. 

Okay, Monday. We have a day off, but we have work to do. The past four days were a bonanza of too much attention (really appreciate it), and I loved all the love. Not sure if I deserve it, but it definitely was rejuvenating. I have fuel for the years ahead (whatever The Great Whatever allows). I'm slowly putting away the gifts, arranging the cards, and putting things in place for the incredible we have lined up over the next several months and summer..

But this morning, I'm shouting out the the brothers of Louisville. Congratulations on your success. And I can say without remorse....All gone. That bottle was a little too good once it was open. Lucky for me, I had friends to assist.

Me 5-Uh Oh Now. Me Blow Up Club and Speak Like Man in Cave. Me Talk in Verse & When I Do Bad I Get Whomp On the Head

I do no more love fest to me. Day of Birth no more. But last night me speak one word at a time. We play game (Neanderthal Poetry). We get team to guess word with grunt words and no hands. Say what me think. You say no, you get Club to head.

Cake is good. Booze is friend. We laugh. It snow. Cold wind blow. Last day of me. That is good. 

Yum cake. Yum treats, Yum food. Yay friends. Life is love. Love is life. My team wins. No two beats, just one beats when we speak. We are beasts. I wake up and know we win. Good Day.

Frog love cake. Man whack Bev. Bev swear at man. Bald man. Bald man play game. Cake is friend. So we eat cake.

Food no more. Bry eat too much and Bry get fat. Too much love. Too much food. So Bry must run and sweat. Bry eat fruit. Fruit is good for clean life. Frogs know flies be bad to eat. Too much fat, so Frog eat air. 

New day. New life. No more pain. No more sick. No more blood. No more eye jab or foot cramp. No more wet poop. No more sneeze. We live good life from now on.

Cave club go bye. Say no more whomp to head. No more fools. We act smart now. The joy must go and we should not laugh so much. So much Booze gifts. Just add ice. Sip Sip Sip. Booze for weeks. More time to pray. More time to rest. More time to sleep. 

Bry is 5 uh-oh. Need to live smart. Man should be good. And thank you.

Lublic Pibrary Bead-a-Rook. Okay, I Will Say the 5th Grade Workshop Was a Success and a Very Short Shel Silverstein Exercise with Runny Babbit Was a Hit

On my birthday, the 16th, my undergraduate students worked with 5th graders at Cesar Batalla and the 4th grade ESL class came for the ride. This morning, I'm going through the birthday cards they sent to me and I'm smiling. One of the exercises we did - they are in an argumentative writing unit - is decide which of three poems they thought were the best and why. All three came from Shel Silverstein. I didn't realize the malapropisms would be attractive to students learning the English language, but hey thought it was hysterical. 

I was super-impressed that one student came up with a Rubric Pibrary Bead-a-Rook campaign which simply demonstrates the intelligence youth hold inside. The artist obviously knew they were clever and added a smiley face. Read more and Learn more. 

This is the brilliance of young people who are capable of processing anything we throw at them when they are invited to be involved. engaged, active in their writing, and encouraged to have fun while learning. 

I'll take that as a cherry on any Dirthbay Kupbake thrown towards my celebrations. An unsolicited Dirthday Darc simply had me smiling with this kid. 

Milner 101...it's not an academic gap, it's an opportunity gap. Kids from the most marginalized schools and districts deserve the best. Any and all who work in "superior" locations, need to ask themselves, "Am I working with learners who deserve my "expertise" most? If not, I am not so sure about claims of "brightest" and "best." I think we're fooling ourselves and flattering our own egos.

All kids are talented and gifted. All are at risk. Our institutions have a lot of rethinking to do.

Symbolism with Joy. For those Who Understand the Beauty of Bourbon to Unwind the Day, this Photo is for You. It Will Melt. That is the Way.

I think it's Friday morning. I'm still processing the pomp and circumstance of turning 50, and the fact that most gifts quickly morph me into Elton John singing songs on the stage. I'm not sure the glasses or feathers serve me well, but they come with territory.

I am watching skating, trying to process the ROC's doping of a child, but understanding competition is competition, and nations do what they do. It's abuse. That kid's mental state will be warped for the rest of her life.

The poor child. Just a child. What we adults do to children. We should be ashamed. 

Meanwhile, I await the ice to melt, which by the time you read this it will be several hours later and I'll be waking up.

The birthday celebrations continue with another round tonight, but I am thinking of last night's NWP gathering and the fact that teachers are desperately in need of help. The nation: including politicians, graduate school programs, academics, parents, and historians, have failed them. They are hurting as they try to be superheroes in capes, but continue to be abysmally bruised by neglect, policies, verbal abuse, and test-frenzied bullshit.

The texts that came from the conversation: we're not going to have any teachers left. The toxicity of this culture is too much for any educator to handle.

And that is what I'm thinking about: the sickness of a culture, the reality of our schools, and the inability of those in power to recognize the ultimate power in teaching. I place shame onto all of us. What are we thinking?

Ice will melt. Truth will be told. Privilege will be challenged.

I will stand for kids and teachers all the way. They deserve the best that life has to offer.

The Verdict is That Turning 50 Means that Friends & Family Can Dress You as Elton John, and the Fact Is...Well, You're an Aging Fart. Get Use To It.

When I set out to write this post this morning, I realized that all the documents I had open at 5:30 a.m. on my computer yesterday were still open this morning. I never closed any of them because I never got back to them. Instead, I was on campus by 8 a.m. and in Bridgeport Public Schools by 8:45. We had a great day of setting up arguments and dialogue with 5th graders, and I finally I had the in-school birthday party I've always wanted. 

I then returned home to a lifetime supply of wind-up toys, gift certificates, and candy, only to fall asleep on my couch, then get invited to dinner, in which I could cash-in some of the gift certificates.

This is all to say the day was a blur, and I still didn't get to the Amazon packages that have piled up this week. I didn't have the energy. I am overjoyed, however, by the artistry of Susan James. The Padlet she created is mesmerizing and I will be working my way through it for many days to come. I can't believe so many people gathered in this space to offer a hello. 

As I opened up gift bags and put on clothing, I realize midlife is simply transforming me into Elton John. That's what they want from us: feathers, big glasses, toys, balloons, and glitter. 

I am forever thankful to the 5th grade team at Cesar Batalla, too, for making the entire morning a true delight, to my colleagues at Fairfield, who obviously collected a chunk of change for all this wind-up toys and gift cards, to Susan and Rose for sending the balloons this morning, I think I will cut into the other gifts after I finish a second cup of coffee. It was too much attention for one day, and I wanted to crawl under the rock where I can live with the worms and potato bugs I'm used to.

The Padlet, though...that was something else...I will cherish that for a long time, although I'm wondering how it is that so much "age" happens from 45-50. That is when you officially transform to geezer. Phew. It's like all my youth went "poof" an suddenly I look old.

All love to any and all who contributed. I am going to piece my way through this for a very long time.

The Frog is Fifty. As in Hawaii 5-0, As in Half a Centenary, the Golden Jubilee...As in 5:30 A.M. This Morning, got Up for Work When I Was Born! I'm Twice My 25th Birthday. Phew. How?

I taught last night until late, and I'm out of the house this morning until the afternoon. 5:30 a.m. wake-up call. That's when I came into the world as a lil' polliwog. 

My birthday happens to fall in the middle of the week, hump day, when I can't even process what is actually happening. With that noted, I also was strategic, because typically my birthday fell in CNY winter recess, so I could never celebrate my birthday in school. 

So, knowing I am working with 75 5th graders this morning with my 19 undergraduates, I decided, "Crandall. You're going to throw a school party you never had." I got balloons, snacks, treats, and Crandall stupidity going into the morning out in schools. I can handle that. Things are gonna be poppin'

Last night, I brought gourmet red-velvet cupcakes for my graduate students, too, and when I got home, I had a Padlet created by Susan James mailed to my email account. She's been working hard on capturing my birthday in its entirety by those that know and love me. I still haven't spent enough time to absorbing all the love. It's a Padlet of Love. Absolutely amazing (see below).

Yes, I got my first Fifty birthday card, so I know it's official (and I'm channeling my undergraduate days when the lady who cleaned our floor turned 40. Her sign said, "Lordy, Lordy, Pattys Forty" and the slogan resonated with me.

I was thinking, "Testicle shifty, cus Crandall's fifty," but didn't think that would go over well.

I now realize the Padlet will post at the end of this post. 

So, I have all the Amazon, UPS, home-mailed gifts in my dining room, and I know more packages are arriving today. I will be singing and dancing with late elementary kids until lunchtime and then heading off to middle school land until this afternoon.

Truth be told, I then plan to collapse. I have no idea what's been going on in the universe, but I know I'm exhausted. I hope to be home by 4 p.m., to take Karal for a walk, and then maybe make a grilled cheese. I will then open packages, watch Susie Q's brilliant birthday wishes collected on Padlet and, perhaps, pour myself a drink.

I think I grew up shying away from attention on my birthday and being two days after Valentine's Day I really didn't think much of the day or celebration. But I know 50 is supposed to me a mile-marker, and I want to be sure that I give the day the attention it deserves.

In truth, I just love knowing that people are thinking about me. That's enough. So, I'm off on the ground running. I'll be normal again sometime this afternoon. 

Now, if my joints freeze up walking down the school stairs....that's just something new in this midlife thing. I'm getting used to it.

All love to friends and family. I appreciate it.

It's the Back-to-Back Teaching Marathon, and There's Nothing Better Than Pairing Texts and Realizing, "Okay, this is Cool. We're Going To Take This Here"

It's Tuesday. 

Hello, Tuesday. 

Tonight, I have graduate students in a content literacy course and I've asked them to read Beers & Probst, Disrupting Thinking, and Gholdy Muhammad's Cultivated Genius. 

Last week, I left feeling like a schlep, because we read Tim Gatreaux's Welding with Children and ran out of time to discuss why I wanted to discuss this particular short story as a model for teaching the wisdom of Beers & Probst. That's okay, though, because this week I assigned Gholdy's gift to the universe, and her cultural, historic lens does what it should - it asks us to to think about the ways we are cultivating the brilliance of all kids. I say yes to Beers & Probst: book, head, heart, but amend with history/culture, too, as a result of the Gholdy-star.

So, for the first time in Crandall's history, we are going to ask about the book, the head, and the heart, but we are going to add Gholdy Muhammad and ask about the history and the culture, too! Note...the story I chose was one that I had 100% success with in Kentucky with a room full of super diverse kids. It is a story of class, and not necessarily race, although race can be read into it. This evening, as a model, we are taking this story down a path to bring Beers, Probst, & Muhammad off the page and into the classroom. 

You know you're a nerd when...

Tonight, I'm interested to see what my graduate students can do when we put Beers & Probst into conversation with Gholdy Muhammad. All three minds continue to influence the ways I think about teaching literacy in the content areas, and I think they are magical when walking aside of one another. Robust. Brilliant. Thought-Provoking. Magical. 

We will walk Gatreaux's story through the recommendations of Beers & Probst, but I will then say, "Okay...beyond the book, head, and heart. Where can we put this conversation into a cultural/historical framework, especially in the United States and the institutions as they're designed?"

Literacy needs to be liberating .

It's my birthday week and I'm looking for joys in teaching. I'm pretty sure that tonight will be an absolute treasure. 

I am, because we are. I am thankful for all the brilliant humans out there who keep my mind alive.

Okay, Monday. I'm Revved Up and Ready For Whatever You Wish to Bring. I Am Fueled By Good People Doing Great Things. Love. Period.

I didn't run. But I did participate. I didn't lose my intestines or toes, and simply enjoyed the drumming, the spirit, the energy, and the love of the annual Iris Run for (and with) Refugees in New Haven, Connecticut. It was hard, because I wanted to run, but I had self-restraint and I achieved.

I'm also thankful for the Silvers who had me over for the football game, including incredible party food (Yes, I ate too many chicken meatballs sweetened with pineapples over rice. I indulged a little too much on those. And the shrimp. Who can go wrong with the shrimp?).

I was proud of myself, though, because I was nose to the grind with grading and planning so I could take a Sunday evening, although I wanted to collapse at 8 p.m.. There's a tremendous agenda ahead this week and I have everything lined up and ready to go. 

The goals are many, including one of being in trot mode for 2023 for a race that has love at its center. As many t-shirts said, "Give me a refugee over a racist any day." True that. Run local, think global. Now that is a mantra. Here is not there and we should do what we can for the humanity of all. I don't see how any religion would be counter to such a goal (although I'm sure many use religion to spread the hate and prejudice they have in their heart). That is for them to figure out.

Okay, Garfield. We have another Monday. Let her take it easy on all of us. Most of us stayed up to watch the game (and commercials). Now to Twitter to see what they're saying about that halftime show. I don't think I want to know, but I'll give it a look. Flashbacked to my 20s and early 30s.

And Happy Valentine's Day. I got Renée Watson to look forward to tonight...The Write Time! Doubt she'll be my Valentine, but I'm pretending she's mine.

Favorite Event Each Year - Run For Refugees in New Haven Sponsored by @IRISCT. Today, I Arrive to Soak In the Beauty of Humanity & Love

In my closet, I have every racing jersey from the annual 5K Run for Refugees event. In fact, I could go well over 7 days a week simply wearing R4R attire. Between these and the Writing Our Lives T-Shirts, I almost have my own line of clothing. 

I've been running this race since I arrived in the State of Connecticut and I will continue to be there each and every year, as long as they host the celebration. Of course, we had to retreat virtually last year, but I still participated. In fact, it was the last time I ran a 5K. After that, Hendrick the Hernia made it impossible, so instead of running, I started walking every day. The surgery was a success, but then came the stabbed eye, followed my the ankle/boot, followed by Covid, followed by the flu, and capped off with 6 staples in my head a week ago because I don't know how to properly take a shower.

Crandall's a mess.

Yet in my garage is the equipment to get back into the groove. I still walk four to five miles a day, but haven't been running. This year was devoted to get me back on my feet and today was the race to kick it off. I know, however, that I should not run. I should walk. I also know I should not push myself to think I can run. I am afraid body parts will fall off and paramedics will need to sprint my way. Hey. Aren't those Crandall's intestines hanging from that tree. Look, Bob. I found a toe over by the creek.

We shall see what and how I do. I know it's not about me...this race...but about the great work that IRIS does for the State of Connecticut, for immigrants, and for refugee families. Simply hearing the music, seeing the people, having politicians speak and welcome us, and hearing the National Anthem are enough. That's all I need to fuel my heart and soul for the rest of the day. I'm going to the race to absorb everything. The Super Bowl is minor in comparison.

Perhaps I will trot from time to time, but I'm not pushing anything. It's been a rough year and I'm nowhere near the way I was through most of this past decade. One day at a time. Mid-life Crandall girth, aches, and pains. But my heart is in the right place and I still like to move. It's the pushing hard and sweating that seems to be doing me in.

One beautiful day at a time - this one being one of the more beautiful ones.

And I'm thanking the Great Whatever for all the snow. 

Well, It's Been a Week Already and I Have My Staple Remover. These Boogers are Coming Out. Python Bites and Hopefully Sutured.

Friday wasn't a bad day. I finished a project, picked up 100 books for another project, heard additional books arrived for a third project, and was sent a photo of my academic mentor, Kelly Chandler Olcott, and no other than Nic Stone. Woot Woot. Happiness. Then, at night, I traded in a gift certificate for Marguerite pizza, meatballs and a Caesar salad. A good meal. Okay, Friday, we'll move into the weekend with a smile.

I'm signed up for a 5K on Sunday, Run 4 Refugees, but this morning I have to return to the ER to get the staples out. I had a scare, as I had gum boils forming around my molars. I am chalking this up to the family of Covid tongue. My teeth ached all day and the, zzzz, they popped. Swear to The Great Whatever this is the work of martians.

A week ago today, it was supposed to be a very different day. Today, I am counting my blessings.

So they say you just go in and they pop the mothers out. I'm hoping it's painless, as I hear there's no need to make me a numb-skull again. I'm hoping this is true. I've avoided trying too hard to think about the damage I did. Actually, I just did a series of photos of the back of my head. More on that tomorrow.

Meanwhile, my grading pile is enormous, the temperatures will be in the 50s, and I simply want a low-key day with no drama. I should head to my office as there are million and one things I need to accomplish for the week ahead (although I got a lot of the materials in place yesterday).

I'm just thankful. So much of all of this could have been much, much worse. I know this as everyone has been sending me Bob Saget news and other tragic Covid fall realities. It seems to be ubiquitous with middle-aged morons like myself. It's all good. I keep my faith looking forward.

We got this. 

I'll Take a Relaxed Dog at the End of the Day, After a Marathon of Writing, Grading, and Finding Hope with the @WritingProject Family

Stay tuned to Valentine's Day. My soul is in love, and I can't wait to share the wisdom of a phenomenal writer with teaching communities everywhere. 

Karal was happy when I finally chose to turn the laptop off, shut down the external screen, put the phone away, and simply sit in silence. My companion that I chose on a whim, because a man's best friend can't have a relationship until they are chosen, chilled for a while. No matter how much a nuisance other families found her (and I do, too), she's great to have around.

She is as a metaphor to myself. She can sit still. She can relax. She simply needed love. What a spazz.

It's Friday, and I'm picking up 100+ copies of Torrey Maldonado's What Lane, and I am looking forward to featuring it with Bridgeport youth during the 2022 Youth Leadership Academy - Writing Our Lives & Choosing a Lane. It remains a favorite event each year and I couldn't be happier about featuring no other than the Maldonadorian himself. We Frogs appreciate Grogu, although we have to watch our back. We're that delicious.

I have appointments in New Haven and Fairfield, stretching me in two different directions, but I think I'm 99.9% I'm ready to hit the send button on another project. Meanwhile, next week is loaded with events I've chosen for myself, especially working with 70 5th graders and a team of teacher-leaders to discuss a fantastic book with my birthday brother, Paul Hankins. 

But I'm channeling Karal, and understand the importance of rest. If only dogs blogged daily, and this was a photo of me on her lap.

Yesterday, It Went Down. And I Have to Shout Out to 75 1st Graders from Norwalk & 19 Undergraduates from @FairfieldU for a Spectacular Event. Woot Woot to @DollyParton, @mattdelapena!, @theartoffunnews

This is a Covid story. 

But it isn't ugly, it's beautiful (as CJ taught us). My undergraduates were scheduled to work with Kendall College and Career Academy in their Explorations of Education course, and we began the semester working with 1st graders. Alas, because of protocols and precaution, we opted not to do face-to-face learning. Rather, we became pen pals, and then decided on a ZOOM workshop. We knew we were working with Amanda Gorman's Change Sings, but I have a difficult time working with student audiences without throwing in a Matt de la Peña picture book. They make you think, and Christian Robinson's artwork is spectacular. They win every time.

So, Crandall thought, "How am I going to get 19 Fairfield bodies onto the screen in 6 classrooms of Norwalk? Well, ZOOM, of course. And Padlet. Crandall can't love Padlet any more. How do we keep the kids entertained and, more importantly, teach them? They really wanted to see our campus, so why not make a video for them, even if the weather didn't cooperate. And who knew undergrads loved donuts and iced coffee so much?

I asked a student to read Amanda Gorman's book - she rocked it, and then we moved to Last Stop on Market Street. Who was there to save the day? Well, no other than Dolly Parton! I have read Matt's book a 1,000 times to students and teachers, but I'm no Dolly Parton. When she sang at the end I told my students, I think I'm about to cry. This was absolute beauty upon the screen. That accent. The recognition of being poor in the U.S., and the voice. 

This is the power of ZOOM and Padlet. I could present to 75+ 1st graders in their rooms, with their teachers, as my students participated in my room, Canisius Hall. I could call on them to come to the screen to talk to the kids, and we were able to see them on the screens in our room. We could ask them questions and hear the cacophony of responses.

After we read both books, and I did a presentation on "change over time" and the "beauty of change," (working on consonant clusters with 'ch') I gave the assignment to draw something beautiful or something that changes over time and to write a sentence about it.

Phew. Complete silence. Everyone went right to work. It was scary, so I said, "How about some music?" So I typed "kid music" and this video came up first. Can I tell you that 100% of those first graders drew something beautiful and/or wrote about change. And then we had Open-Mic time and they shared their writing with my students. I should note that my college students wrote, too, and a couple of them shared with the little ones. I collected their work for a grade. Kidding. I will send their work the school.

And this was the video that broke the seal. Matt, Dolly, and these kids (both in the video and as writers). When I was tasked to teach a service learning course with the realities of Covid, I didn't know if it would work. Phew. It works. Why? Beautiful kids, wonderful teachers, stunning books, and generous writers and singers putting their talents into the world.

I welcome such change. I welcome this beauty.

Drat. It Does It to Me Every Time. Tim Gatreaux's 1998 Short Story "Welding with Children" - the Perfect Text for Conversations About America and Writing

I should know better by now than to say, "We'll quickly read Welding with Children, then we'll move onto application of course materials and developing middle and secondary readers." The story takes over the night, and even though I set it up, there is never enough time to discuss it. There's so much right going on with this storytelling and I lose myself in the conversations about it. I should of assigned it...not read it in class.

In other words, I over planned. God Bless my graduate students. It's okay, though, because by the time you read this I'll already heading back to campus to teach the 8 a.m. (with 45 1st graders...wish me luck). 

And to all the coughing, sneezing, leaking undergraduates at Fairfield University who come into the hallways to blow snot and excrete mucus, there are people walking through those same hallways. It's not the graduate students because the halls are empty from 4 pm on (as are the classrooms). It's the undergraduates in their afternoon classes, and it is really is gross. I'm cool with the mask mandate going away, but maybe sick students should just stay home. This thing has been brutal. We don't need them blowing boogers onto the carpet and walls of Canisius Hall.

I'm living between my ears. Slight headache in the front, pain where the staples are, and post-Covid fogginess. They tested me for a concussion, and I passed, meaning I don't have one. Still, I'm not feeling like Bryan....just 1/10th of him. He's there somewhere....Maybe like Voldemort on the back of Quirinus Quirrell's head.

I need another cup of coffee before I head out the door. Sorry that every Wednesday post is likely to be this same whining, but an evening class Tuesday followed by an 8 a.m. on Wednesday is just whack. All the ducks are lined up, but the energy it takes is impossible. 

But, off I go. See ya. 

For Someone Who Is Foggy-Brained (Captain Staple - That Was Easy, as the Twins Called me Out), I'm Resting and I Like My Glasses...so There's That

I am keeping my head on a pillow as much as possible. I also braved a shower (phew, three days without deoderant...not a good idea). I got a bath mat so I could protect myself from falling again. I also held onto the wall. Best to get back on the saddle. And I had permission to shower after 48 hours, but no drying my hair except for the patted approach. All went well. But I was a little nervous about getting back on the horse. Well, to stand in a bathtub again. Discovering my bloody hand print on the curtain didn't help. 

Oh, and this photo is 3 days without a shower. I think I should do this more often because I look better with unwashed hair. The brown overlapping the gray, parted n the side like I'm an episode of Silver Spoons.

And so begins two frantic, hectic days of teaching (which I love to do, because most of the work is created before the class begins and I simply go into the room to enjoy myself). This week, we're working with 1st graders in Norwalk who have been approaching double letter sounds like 'Ch', so we are presenting on changes. I made a video yesterday to introduce them to Fairfield University's campus. Yes, the turkeys made themselves known. The goal is to see one ch-changing with a strong reading and writing trajectory.

But I am looking forward to Wednesday evening, most, when I will not think about classes and I can close my eyes and rest more than I'm doing now. I'm laying low. Seriously. I have to, and the directions are to get the staples out this week. Anyone have staple remover?

Alice in California told me I don't have to have a crazy-ass story or post on my blog every day, so I decided to make this a chill-one. It's been a wild ride. Who wants to push me in a stroller?

Better yet, who wants to clean my house?

A Decade of Tatum's Textual Lineages, The Passion for Diverse Books in the Hands of Kids, & the Ugly Ways Racism Snakes Its Head in Book-Banning Today

Disclaimer. I am in my 2nd full day since receiving 6 staples in my head, but I woke up yesterday needing to graph and visually think through a few things. 

On Saturday, NWP colleagues and I presented at NCTEAR about reasons our sites have adopted anti-racist philosophies and critically looked at ways we could provide access to more and more teachers and youth (of course, I missed it, because I was in the ER).

At CWP, teachers and I have been working since 2014 on diversifying programs, especially in the midst and on the campus of a PWI - Primary White Institution (I'd add another W, Primary Wealthy White Institution). Without a doubt, the programs we run during the summer look nothing like the student body during the academic year. We have served 1,000s of youth - published their work - and I'm proud to say that our programs have been super-diverse. This, however, was an intentional design of our team as our summer institutes have blended teachers from a wide swath of schools. 

I was crunching numbers from the National Center for Education Statistics last fall, and noticed that the United States is 62% White, with college campuses remaining 70% White (Fairfield is even higher), but wanted to see how K-12 public schools were landing. In 2020, 47% of K-12 youth were White in public schools. This trend will  grow to be a cultural norm in the United States. I've written about it before - and celebrated that super diversity is a global norm as cultures migrate together as a result of wars, climate change, and economic opportunities (Vertovec, 2007). Digital communication has allowed more access to "knowing" in locations that were previously without high literacy rates. The result is population movement. It's happening in any nation where the perception of an opportunity for a better life exists.

But I awoke Sunday morning thinking about book banning, and how a few loud voices in some communities are making an uproar about diverse texts in schools, carrying the torch of misrepresented CRT - Critical Race Theory. Like all ideologies, CRT is a school of thinking, a theory, and I personally find it helpful when working through meaning and truth for the world, especially when analyzing inequities, cruelty, and harshness (owing much to Ernest Morrell and Jeffrey Duncan-Andrade in shaping my mind). In fact, as I was learning the brilliant lives of 8 African-born male refugee youth in and out of school while at Syracuse University, CRT offered me an angle for understanding global shifting, especially around literacy)

In all honesty, it's just CT - Critical Thinking. The goals should always be to teach kids to be independent, active, logical, and agentive. That is as American as it gets. It's the philosophy I believe in. We should want every child in school to be able to think, as thinking is crucial to success in all occupations. In parenting. In the day to day routines of life. Decisions need to be made, and they should be logical and sound. Denying thinking skills to children is simply criminal.

For as long as I've been teaching at the college level, I've promoted Alfred Tatum's work with textual lineages and the ways we build reading lives with ALL students. To do this, I've traced the books that have made me who I am as a thinker (from Ms. Twiggly's Tree, to Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, to The Color Purple, and Teachers as Cultural Workers, etc), but I've extended the prompt to Literacy Lineages, because I realize that people, experiences, visuals, and circumstances have also shaped my intellectual life and thinking, too. I am the sum of all my parts. I'm the investment of great minds, fortunate opportunities, research, teaching experience in schools with a mission for diversity and inclusion, and creativity. In return for sharing my literacy lineage, I assign my students to explore their own reading/writing/thinking/ speaking trajectory. I want them to have these for their future students, and this includes math, science, history, 2nd language, and English educators. Each of us are a single text, but we are written through the library of influences that have made us who we are.

There's something miraculous I've noticed in the decade I've done this. Kids love reading through middle school, but pretend to read once they get to high school. Teens are overcommitted, frustrated by most adults, exploratory, and busy. The majority of them DO NOT read the assigned texts, and are miraculously brilliant at pretending they do. I know this because 9 times out of 10 my students admit this while presenting on their own lineages. The majority realize they could still pass (even the AP exams) because the teachers do what Gallagher calls 'overreaching' - how can you not know what they should know. Most name that high school reading assignments killed the joy and that the reading life came alive again in college or whenever they had opportunity to choose their own texts on their own. They also state that collegiate reading requires critical thinking and intellectual pursuits in a way that high school reading did/does not. This is something we all should pay attention to.

In 2014, Christopher Myer penned "The Apartheid in Children's Literature" in the New York Times. I was fortunate to present at NCTE with him, Ger Duany, and William King a few conferences ago, and his influence supercharged my thinking in numerous directions. Christopher's mind works even faster than my own, and since I've also followed Ellen Oh's and Lamar Giles work with #WeNeedDiverseBooks, I've been applauding the volumes of texts being published today. In fact, it was central in designing The Write Time show with NWP and Tanya Baker. Why? Because kids I work within schools and during summer programs READ these books, LOVE these books, and in the best circumstances they are having BRILLIANT CONVERSATIONS about these books. 

In short, they are doing what Freire recommends, both reading the word and the world. 

Then comes the censorship tsunamis of 2021-2022. 

I keep shaking my head, but then remember I saw a graphic once of the U.S. timeline on racism, which helped me to view how deeply entrenched the barbaric, colonial, vicious, and hateful snake of racism is to the United States (and how short the timespan has been for the U.S. to work towards a true democracy). A sentiment for civil rights in the U.S. is not even 100 years old, and availability of diverse texts REPRESENTING diverse people who reside in the U.S. is only half my age. The push, #RepresenationMatters, is only 25 years in the making and it arrives from the multiculturalism, social justice phase of the late 80s into the 90s (my years of K-12 schooling and college experiences)

And here the snake is once again with parents doing what they are doing. I wish Superintendents, politicians, and School Boards would hand each of these individuals a library card with the instructions, "Before we listen to your complaints, we need you to revisit history and check out a few books." They should be told this would be the best way to not embarrass themselves in front of the kids. Perhaps we should request as Nic Stone does, "Read my books before you attack them."

Yesterday, I chatted with a few author friends, colleagues in NWP, and teachers from Louisville. One, an African American teacher I adore from Iroquois High School, Aletha, asked when I shared the graphic above, "Did segregation ever end?" I had to stop in my place and ask the same thing. Given zip-code apartheid and the reality of inequitable schools I encounter weekly, her question was spot on. Perhaps that yellow should carry through to where we are right now...maybe we're not so "green."

Then, Torrey Maldonado challenged me to think further, “Often, there’s a backlash to Black & BIPOC Excellence.” When you look at the pernicious hold racism has had on the U.S. from imperialism, colonialism, until now, I can't help but think he is correct. My God, who has modeled better the power of perseverance, dedication, overcoming, achieving, celebrating, and having faith in what is possible than the Brown and diverse minds that have been exploited all the way? In the last decade there's been an uptick of diverse, beautiful, representational, and joyous texts being published and shared with America's readers. Then, boom! Look at those showing up with vitriol once more. Hello followers of Voldemort. Eating death, I see. Their canine teeth are out. Their intent as obvious as ever.

My question is to the parents who want to keep diverse texts from U.S. readers. When you're a teacher, it doesn't take long to realize every parent indoctrinates the minds of their children - it's inevitable, because learning is always an indoctrination. And it's true, teachers do it, too. All education indoctrinates. What is different in the United States, however, is the mission to create individuals - critical thinkers who are able to see multiple perspectives and make a wise decision from there. It's choice. It's variety. It's options. It's free will. K-12 schools indoctrinate in robust, healthy, and enlightening ways: They teach kids to think. They teach kids to question. They tap into the natural wonder of young people to find out why, and they coach.

So, my questions to the parents are as follows: "Why don't you want your child to think? Why don't you want them to question? Why do you desire to hinder curiosity and keep your child from finding out their truth. What are you so afraid of?"

This is year 27 for me as an educator. I've dedicated my life to the profession and even with the wonkiness of today, I still believe it is the greatest work a human being can do. I also like to note that I am a both/and....not an either/or....thinker. My mantra has always been, "Read everything. Engage with everyone. Learn from our humanity." I tell students, "be the most incredible human being you can."

Our young people deserve a better world than we are handing them right now. For me, I'm going back to the beautiful books lying in every room in my house, engaging with the complexity, joyfulness, and inspiring storytelling of the diverse writers that surround me. It makes my life phenomenal. The plurality in my ways of knowing enriches me. Give me heterogeneity over homogeneity every time. 

Why? Let me channel Louis Armstrong and Israel Kamakaawiwo'ole for this one. I choose to sing, "And I think to myself, what a wonderful world."

Let's make the world wonderful for all children. Period.

2022 Is Heading in the Wrong Direction, and I'll Never Be Able to Staple Papers in the Same Way Again. Hello, ER, My Name is Crandall

Well, that wasn't the way Saturday was supposed to go. I was scheduled to meet with Susan James, Ellen Shelton, Kelli Sassi, Tonya Perry, and Jessie Early for a presentation online at NCTEAR. I talked with Susan early, joking on whether or not we should shower and if it would matter. She talked me into it. 

So I showered. And I slipped. I went backwards, out of the tub, onto the tile and banged my scalp on the handle of a cabinet drawer. My head was all soapy from shampoo and I immediately knew the gash was no good. I could feel it. 

I went into adrenaline mode, acting fast trying not to pass out nor lose too much blood. Shampoo out, towel immediately to apply pressure. It was a scene from Carrie. I cleaned, though, because I didn't want Edem to come home to a horror scene. Applying pressure worked, and I got dressed with one hand. I then I needed to do three things: 1) contact my NWP team to say there's an emergency, 2) send the Padlet to them so they could do their thing, and 3) call Dave Wooley to see if he could rush me to the hospital. He could. Edem pulled in right before he did, and when I came outside I'm sure he was like, "What's going on?" He rolled own his window and got updated. He then jumped out to help Dave scrape the ice off his car. 

I told Dave, "I think I'm in shock, but I'm going to hang on for you." He ran in to get a wheel chair, and then wheeled me in. Admittance was extremely fast, as was a room. The procedure, however, was a little longer, because the wound was drying and my hair was matted into it. The physician assistant was clever and made a cocktail elixir and got the hair out, all while topically numbing the gash. He was training an assistant, so I got all the vocal play-by-play, and Tunga did, too, as he came to the room from Stamford. I felt bad for him because he was there for the numbing and the staples. Yes, it makes stapling sounds. Because I'm used to the wasp stings of the psoriasis shots, I knew what to expect. Cleaning it was much worse than the staples...all six of them. 

Franken-Bry. 

The best part, though, was that Susan got her revenge. I've often taken photos she doesn't want people to see and put them in my presentations. Well, I did a selfie in the hospital and didn't she work it into the presentation in my absence. Touché. 

I think I jinxed myself, however, with my ambitious goals for January up until my 50th. Those goals will need to come after the day, as I don't think I'll be risking too much activity for little while (which is killing me and my middle-aged body)

And, I believe I will insert anti-slipping strips to the bathtub today, as I do not want a repeat performance.

Dream @WritingProject Team: @easms @kjsassi @Jessie_Early @bookdealerSusan and @tperry5280 Present at @NCTEAROrg Today. Life's Work

I love a good story. Truth is, I love The National Writing Project story more. I'm always amazed when teacher leaders gather additional teacher leaders and commence to do the best work possible. I've said over and over again, "I can't imagine not being networked with the National Writing Project family. They are my lifeline, my soul, and my faith."

A year ago, knowing Felicia Rose Chavez's The Anti-Racist Writing Workshop was hitting the national market, I did a call for site directors to bring teacher leaders together for a series of conversations. Actually, my own teacher leaders wanted this and I followed their lead. We met for a semester, read and discussed the book, and began thinking about how it might influence the work we do at our own sites. A special shout out to Dr. Tonya Perry, University of Alabama at Birmingham, for being the leader who featured featured Chavez's work on The Write Time.

Our team, with our teachers, presented at NCTE in November, but are fortunate to go forward with the 'research arm' this morning at NCTEAR - the National Council of Teachers of English Assembly of Research. We are thrilled to bring the work to the vision of Dr. Detra Price and her leadership team for this year's conference. 

We were VERY deliberate about inviting sites to represent regions of the United States, as we wanted to vary the localities where we are thinking about Chavez's work. 

The bottom line for me this morning is how lucky it is we have one another. The National Writing Project transcends state boundaries and caters to the best educators in the nation. It takes a particular type of stellar individual to do a teacher institute, and an even better one to put themselves at the helm of their school and district. Yet, here we are, united as a crew of several states, about to discuss ways we might  enhance writing instruction for all learners in our care. 

I, personally, cannot wait to hear what my colleagues have to say, and I'm extremely thankful to Felicia Rose Chavez for contributing her thought-proving guide. It's a Saturday, there's not a lot of time (but there's much space to write up what we're learning), and NCTEAR is an incredible outlet. In these times, when so many work to divide and distract us from what it truly important, I'm thankful to be part of this incredible team who always, in all they do, keep the National Writing Project mission moving forward.

Because I Don't Know How to Spell "Bleck" Correctly, I Went with Yuck. This Fog, Mist, Rain, Ice, Gray, and World are Just Yuck City Right Now

February will always be February, and I think a couple of groundhogs who normally predict the season turned up dead in their cages before they could come out to view their shadows - that is the world we are living in right now. From underneath rocks, inside homes, and out of the extreme depths of ignorance and stupidity, we now have armies of loud-mouth parents mandating decisions about teaching that are idiotic, imbecilic, and totally off-base. 

Teaching 101. If you don't want your child reading a particular book, work with the teachers for an alternative, but do not deny the rest of the young people the opportunity to question, inquire, explore, discover, and learn. And if you don't want them in an environment where curiosity, skills, critical thinking, and wonder are upheld and encouraged, pull your kid out of school. Home school them. Enroll them in private schools aligned to your restrictive values. Bring your child back to the cave where you can chain them up and teach them about the false shadows you want them to know and believe in. Keep them away from the Plato, because shaping the world into something better is obviously not your intent.

I am unsure if the paranoia is another symptom of Covid-19, or this is more reactionary knee-jerking from minds who have chosen non-enlightenment as a way of being, but it's getting insane. And it's wrong.

As a lawyer scholar said to me yesterday, these decisions will go county by county, school by school, board by board. Courts side with the local in the case of censorship and the only power a community has is to promote open-minded, forward thinking individuals to serve their school districts. This means that teachers, thinkers, students, and doers need to be active. It's the only way to counter Voldemort and his minions.

The mood from this weather has trickled into my mood about this phenomenon. It's so outrageously dumb and horrible, that I don't even want to acknowledge it. I feel Garfield on a Monday morning.

Both/And. Teach everything. Read everything. Question everything. KNOW. 

That is the heart and soul of teaching. Every child arrives with wonder and schools should NOT be the place where this is squashed. If you want to abolish thinking and knowing, keep your children home and become the educator you want them to have. Don't destroy schools because you live with a closed mind. Just leave. Do a better job because you know you can. Most of us trust that you DO have what it takes to raise an exceptional child. Your superiority is obvious.  

But leave intellect, knowledge, and truth-finding to libraries and the schooling spaces that encourage diversity in thought, exploration, and deep questioning. Leave that to the professionals, the teachers, and the very individuals who most believe in democracy and the values of the United States.

Period. End Stop. The End.

I'm going back to grading.

Because My Life is Absolutely Naan-sense, Why Not Make PBJ with Whatever Bread Can Be Found in the Home?

Since I left my house yesterday morning at 7 a.m. I had one goal - get thee to a Big Y to get groceries. I bypassed lunch because I went from class, to schools, to ZOOM meetings for candidates, to emails, to looking at the clock and saying, "It's past dinner. Shoot. I never went to the store."

Ugh. So, I did have naan bread, and there's always peanut butter and jelly. It was what it was. A mixing of cultures. Not the greatest but it sufficed.

I obviously didn't hit the road to Syracuse like I planned, but the threat of storms, and the uneasiness of health stuff made me think it wasn't a really good idea. Better safe than sorry. This will give me a few days to grade, focus, rethink strategies, catch up, and work with colleagues in the NWP. It's not a bad thing, but I was looking forward to family time and the Syracuse/Louisville game (even though both teams bite this year). We'll still watch it on t.v.

On another note, thrilled to get a check for $25,000 in the mail today in support of a project I envisioned last summer. I forgot all about it, but will take the foundational support to launch what I had in mind. Always cool to see a check for that amount - and especially cool to put this money in the hands of teachers. You give a teacher a dollar and they will make it last a long, long time. Thrilled to invest this in 8 teachers and 95 adolescent writers. More on this soon, once I wrap my head around the reality that this is going into effect immediately. I know the work it will take and I'm trying to figure out how to engage this when everything is moving forward without knowledge this sudden twist in the narrative would arrive.

So, naan PBJ in stomach, I finally said at 9:30, the day is done. 

Hello, Thursday. What are you doing here?

I Want to Be Smarter with a Great Window Quote From Literature, But All I Have Is The Fact That My Window Was Installed with 11 Degree Temperatures

Sometimes when I sip my morning coffee, I just chuckle at the absurdity of it all. Of course the installation company would call at 6:30 a.m. and say they were out front, even when they said between 7 - 7:30 a.m. It's all good, I was up, I had a day's worth of work planned, and I had winter's hat, gloves, and coat on for that work, but it eventually got too difficult for me, so I went upstairs. Anyone want fresh air on a frosty morning in February? 

Actually it was the noise. 

Long story short, two windows were installed by 10 a.m., and everything was cleaned up. I heard someone washing dishes in the kitchen and came downstairs. It was Edem, the birthday boy (age 30, can you believe it?) cleaning up breakfast after a doctor's appointment after work. 

That was my Tuesday.

Dang. The heat had to only be off for a couple of hours (btw, still warm upstairs). I prepped my evening class, came down, Edem and I rearranged furniture, and that was that. I'm really impressed. The windows look great and only a couple of adjustments need to be made...The bay window taken out is the same as the one brought in (Sir, I think these are the original windows in this house...perhaps the first crank shift windows in Connecticut. And on a bay window). 

The issue is with he trim. The previous window required thick trim, which needs to be accommodated for...because now there's a gap, so new drywall needs to be done. It's all good. I got this. Right now, the couch is backed up to the window and covers it, so I can be patient when getting somebody in for repair. 

I'm satisfied. Of course, now I need to paint the wood, but we'll get there. I am thinking about using a stain, but we'll see. 

Oh, and I'm off to teach today. Finish at 7 pm Tuesday nights and out of the house at 7 a.m. on Wednesday mornings. Never again will I agree to anything as DUMB as this schedule. Ever. 

Mapping Out The Days Ahead and Thinking, "Okay, Karalvan Cartographer, It's Not Looking Too Promising." For Now, Focusing On the Classes

Yes, I watched Star Wars again last night. Don't judge me. I also spent the day behind my laptop and actually got dizzy from all the screen time. Talked to Lossine in Syracuse, now teaching 6th grade, and his exhaustion exacerbated my own, "Crandall, I'm still Covid-tired and I had it back in November." Susan, too, in Florida texted me simply to say, "Will this complete drain ever end?"

I'm wondering the same. 

And this morning, yes in the cold, they will be here at 7 a.m. to install the two windows that were supposed to be put in two weeks ago. They are sending a full crew, but I'm trying to figure out how I am going to work in a house that is likely to be very cold as they do this. I'm also thinking about Karal the spaz. Don't think she will handle it well. And I have to teach tonight and tomorrow morning, meaning that everything has to be arranged by 4 pm so I can run copies. 

The plan, too, was to head to Syracuse after class on Wednesday, but I'm now realizing that I won't have a second to put the house back together until then, let alone pack. And there are storms coming across the country that don't make it seem like a good idea to head out of dodge, even if I do want to see family and the Louisville/Syracuse game. 

To be honest, thinking about it makes me want to curl under the blanket and sleep some more. I think this is what people mean by the, "Don't push. This thing hangs on for a very long time, even after it's supposedly over."

I am excited, though, as I chose varying cartographer art for slides tonight, as we're prepping to read Born a Crime by Trevor Noah and we're doing non-fiction, Beers & Probst work around Apartheid rules, Jim Crow Laws, and 21st Century Gerrymandering. I figured maps was one way to frame the evening, and each week I like to share different artists with my students. This is a win.

As I'm writing this post the night before it will publish online, I'm already getting tired of what's to come the next two days. But, onward it goes. Onward it goes. 

Oh, Anakin's face horrified me under the mask of Darth Vader as a kid. Now, he just looks like a middle-aged man from the Class of 1990 who happens to have a few scars.

Hey, it's February! Onward.